Grace Abounds
by Clever Lass
Summary: A continuation of "Grace and Favour," based on rumors of a 3rd-season marriage between Mr. Humphries and Mavis. A new investor shows up at Millstone Manor; Mr. Moulterd gets the sack and starts plotting revenge; meanwhile, Malcolm Heathcliffe is determined to get Mavis away from Mr. Humphries. Revenge, redemption, and romance: a sweet treat for readers tired of gritty realism.
1. An Alarming Evening

_Author's note, with background:_ " _Are You Being Served" was a British comedy that ran from 1971 to 1985. It was set in the men's and women's department of a large department store in London, Grace Brothers. There was a core team of six: Captain Peacock, the floorwalker; Messrs. Grainger, Humphries, and Lucas, who worked on the men's counter, and Mrs. Slocombe and Miss Brahms, who worked on the ladies' counter. After the death of the actor who played the elderly Mr. Grainger, they tried several unsuccessful substitutes, and finally just wrote the part out and promoted Mr. Humphries into the role of senior salesman. Another regular was their bumbling, inept manager, Mr. Rumbold._

" _Grace and Favour," (or "Are You Being Served...Again?" as it was known to American audiences) was a sequel to the original show. After Mr. Grace died, the remaining six employees discovered he had invested their pensions in an old manor house with a farm. Unfortunately for them, in order to live comfortably on their pensions, they had to live there at the Manor. This series also introduced two new regular characters, an uncouth old country farmer named Maurice Moulterd, and his beautiful daughter Mavis._

 _This story centers on Mr. Humphries and Mavis, who is half his age, and develops a crush on him in the show. Their friendship stayed platonic even though they shared a bed every night, but there were rumors of them getting married in season 3. Sadly, there were only 2 seasons of the show made. Their marriage would have been momentous, due to the fact that Mr. Humphries' character was portrayed in the original show as alternating between flamingly gay, mostly gay with the occasional dalliance with women, sexually ambiguous, and by the time Grace and Favour came around, almost completely asexual (he "hadn't been down that road in a very long time!")._

 _In his personality, he was extremely effeminate, overly emotional, crying easily, shrieking and passing out often, and vain about his looks. He was a flirt with both men and women, but ran scared when anyone showed a serious interest in him. He dressed in drag, wore makeup, and often passed for female; he had an extremely close relationship with his mother, who phoned him several times a day. The writers and the actor who played him have all said he was very much a "mama's boy."_

 _Mr. Humphries is not an author's usual choice of romantic lead; the biggest challenge in this story was writing a romance for him that didn't completely alter his personality. I know all loyal AYBS fans have their own interpretations of Mr. Humphries, and many differ from mine (especially as regards his sexuality, which many see as unremittingly gay, but which the actor and writers portrayed as more fluid). In the show, he had an active and extremely diverse social life, but few of his friendships ever went very deep. He would describe someone as a "close friend" whom he'd known for five minutes. There were also faint hints of sexual abuse in his past (as much as they could mention on a comedy show in the 70s), and in Grace and Favour he once comes to tears over how lonely his life has been._ _Now, in his mid-50s, he has retired to the country thinking he's too old for all that, and suddenly finds a whole new lease on life!_ _That's the interpretation that I'm using here, and my explanation for why he might eventually succumb to such devotion as Mavis offered even if she wasn't his usual type. I've tried my best not to make the romance too treacly, but with a pair of characters as naturally sweet and inoffensive as those two, it was hard not to. So yes, it's extremely sweet and fluffy. Be warned.  
_

 _Also, I am American, with ties to England and Scotland; therefore, I use a lot of British English slang and expressions, but with American spellings. I'm also using this story to experiment and practice with different points of view with limited omniscience. Please let me know if any of the points of view are unclear.  
_

 _I also loathe plagiarism in all its forms, so I will freely say that certain aspects of this story have been loosely based on one called "Grace and Fury," by Mavis Moulterd-Humphries, which can be found in part on FFN and in its entirety on ArchiveOfOurOwn. The idea of Mr. Humphries using "Wil" as a nickname, of his letting Mavis sleep in while he does her chores, of making her breakfast in bed, and of Mavis's mother being named "Mary" were all based on that story. Otherwise, there is an extremely sharp departure from it (that author_ does _alter Humphries' personality in major ways, and i_ _t's a lot darker than this story, but still a fun read-go look it up!)._

* * *

Wilberforce C. Humphries climbed into bed and curled up on his side with a sigh of contentment. After decades of living in London, he was finding that the country made him feel like a new man! He felt quite young and fit again, with his daily "manly walks" and the physical exertion the farm demanded. He was physically stronger than he'd ever been before in his life, and the lifelong insomnia that had plagued him was gone. There was something about the country air that helped him sleep like a baby.

Or maybe something about his bed-mate.

Dismissing the thought with a bit of a blush, he rolled over on his back and reached for Wilfred, his teddy bear. Mavis hadn't come up yet, and he luxuriated for a moment in being able to stretch out his limbs without having to worry about touching her. Not that it was unpleasant, exactly, to accidentally touch her in the night; it was that it was _pleasant_ to touch her. Uncomfortably so.

It didn't mean anything, of course. Just because she shared his bed with him, snuggled with him in the night, and kissed his cheek fairly often didn't mean that she meant anything to him like that. He reached up a chilly hand to cool his slightly flushed cheek—the one she had kissed in the kitchen a few days ago.

He was Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries, renowned for being bold and adventurous on the interpersonal front. He'd try anything with anyone, and often had. Yet this innocent young farm girl frightened him. In the dark, alone, clutching his bear, he was unable to lie to himself: one thing he had never tried before was being loved. He'd had friends and lovers of both sexes, yet no one had ever offered him the depth of devotion and care this young woman did. He'd gotten into countless scrapes (it wasn't easy even in these changing times, being so fey and effeminate), been mistreated, insulted, and even abused sometimes. Mavis' protective, undemanding affection was a balm to his soul.

His bold, adventurous self quailed in the face of genuine emotion such as hers. He'd always been quite affectionate and had plenty of friends, but his friendships tended to be light, surface things. He spared a fond thought for his old Grace Brothers pal, Mr. Lucas. The two of them had had fine times together at work, gotten up to mischief of all sorts, had a lot of laughs, and yet had rarely seen each other off the clock and had never been on a first-name basis aside from that disastrous "American week" that had been young Mr. Grace's brainchild. Lucas had never even known his preferred nickname, addressing him as "Claybourne" for the whole week. He had a brief flash of relief that Mr. Lucas had left Grace Brothers several years before, and not ended up there at the Manor with them. He just knew Lucas wouldn't have been able to keep his hands off Mavis!

Mavis's innocence and sweetness would have called to Lucas like a flower to a bee. She might even have ended up in Lucas' bed instead of his own. Oh, that was a disquieting thought. A wave of protective instinct washed over him and Wil cleared his throat uncomfortably. What was taking her so long, anyway? He shifted back over to his own side, leaving her plenty of room for when she did arrive. It would be impolite not to leave room for her. She might think he didn't want her there if she came up and found him using the whole bed. Last time she'd thought she was unwelcome there, she'd even offered to go and share with Captain Peacock, for heaven's sake! Wil could never allow that.

His possessive feelings took him by surprise, and he rolled over onto his side and curled up again with a sigh. He'd have time to analyze his feelings tomorrow after the morning chores were done. For right now, he was satisfied that she'd be up soon to share his bed—not Captain Peacock's, nor anyone else's. That beautiful, innocent, appealing young creature wanted to be with him more than with anyone else. With that deeply satisfying thought in mind, Wil tucked Wilfred under his chin and drifted off to sleep.

He didn't know how much later it was when he felt the mattress shift as Mavis got into bed. He felt her pull the blankets up over his shoulder and tuck him in a little better. He hadn't realized he was chilly, and he felt a flash of gratitude as he snuggled in and fell back into sleep. He was almost there when he felt her lips touch his cheek in a gentle but lingering kiss.

Wil opened one eye, and then the other. Mavis was lying there facing him, with her face scant inches from his own.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. 'Umphries," she whispered. "I 'adn't meant to wake you. I was just sayin' good night."

"Wil," he replied sleepily.

"Wha'?" she asked.

"Call me Wil, dear. My name is Wilberforce, you know, but only my mother calls me that."

"Oh, I'm not sure I could do tha', Mr. 'Umphries! It'd be too forward! People'd talk!"

Not paying attention to what he was doing, Wil reached out a single finger to brush away a lock of hair from her eyes. "Then perhaps when we're alone and it's just us," he suggested.

Mavis gave him a bashful smile. "I—I could do tha', I suppose. Wil," she added, with a blush.

Thoroughly charmed by her shyness, Wil gently stroked his finger down her cheek. "You're such a sweet little thing, aren't you," he murmured. "So much better than I deserve."

"Oh, no, Mr.—er, I mean Wil," she replied in a whisper. "I just want to take care o' you! You're not like any man I've ever known!"

"I've often been told that that," Wil said ruefully, thinking of his checkered past.

"It's true!" Mavis protested, taking his hand in both of hers and meeting his gaze seriously. "You're such a gentle man."

Wil smiled a little. "Well, I do try to be a gentleman."

"No, it's not tha'," Mavis said. She squeezed his hand. "I mean, yes, you're a gentleman—o' course you are! But what I mean is, you're so kind an' good. Not many men 'ave ever treated me like you do, Mr—I mean, Wil. Not even the chef, when he were in this bed—and 'im one of the quiet ones like you!—not even he treated me as nice as you do. 'E made me do things sometimes, and they weren't always very nice. But you're not like tha'. You care about people. You care... about me," she finished, shyly dropping her gaze. She nuzzled her cheek against the back of his hand, and then let go.

His heart went out to her, and before he knew what he was doing, he had gathered her into his arms and pulled her close. "I do care about you," he admitted. "Far more than I ought." She melted into him and sighed as he pressed his lips to her forehead in a tender kiss.

Then what she had said a moment ago registered with him, and he frowned. "But Mavis," he said.

She looked up at him, her heart shining in her eyes. "Yes, Wil?"

"No one should ever force you to do anything you don't want to do. Do you understand, dear? Not the chef, not Mr. Rumbold, not even your father. Not anyone, ever. I give you my word, I certainly never will!"

"Oh, I know tha', Wil! That's why I love you so much. You'd never force me to do anythin'! You're so gentle and kind. You're a real man, tha's what you are!"

"A real man" was something Wil had rarely been called before. He had made his life choices as they came, and many were unconventional, but no one had affirmed his manhood like that before. No one had ever taken his less manly traits, like his sweetness and gentleness, and told him that they were what made him a real man! And even more, that she loved him for them. This girl was astonishing. She made him feel like he could do anything!

The faith, trust, and yes, love, shining from her face was his undoing. He felt powerless in the face of her sentiment, and, heart pounding, he inched closer. He gave her plenty of time to back off, or turn her head, or say something, but she never did. She kept her gaze fixed on his until his lips touched hers in the gentlest of kisses, and then her eyelids fluttered closed.

Wil couldn't remember the last time he had kissed anyone. He'd been celibate for over a decade, and even before that, he'd usually been the one being kissed. Mavis had no idea what a momentous occasion this was! He kissed her again, a light, butterfly kiss, and then drew her closer and just held her for a few minutes.

"Tha' were lovely," she whispered.

"Yes, it was," he agreed, his heartbeat starting to slow. He buried his face in her hair and sighed happily. He shifted position and felt something under his rib cage. "Wait a moment," he said, squirming around until he could reach it.

"'Ere, let me 'elp," Mavis said, reaching under him. It tickled, and he squeaked in surprise. "'Ere's the culprit!" she announced proudly, with a little giggle, as she handed him his teddy bear.

"Oh!" Wil tittered. "Poor thing, I'd forgotten him!" He smiled at Mavis. "Do you know, I've slept with poor little Wilfred for twenty years! But on this occasion I think he can probably make it through the night without me." He set Wilfred carefully on the chair next to the bed, and turned back to Mavis.

He tentatively held out his arms, and breathed a sigh of relief when she came back into them with no hesitation. It felt so extremely right, snuggling down with Mavis under the blankets, that he pressed another kiss to the top of her head and pulled her closer so there was no space between them at all.

"Good night, Wil," she said quietly into the darkness.

"Sleep well, dear," he responded, and then all was still.


	2. A Relaxing Morning

Chapter 2

The next morning, Wil rose at first light. He was still feeling protective of Mavis, and he wanted to give her a nice lie-in if possible. So he milked the cows, gathered the eggs, fed the stock, and stopped into the vegetable garden to check on the produce. He found four ripe tomatoes and his mouth watered. Yes, it would be a full fry-up today! And Mavis wouldn't have to lift a finger. In fact, he'd even bring her breakfast in bed!

When he got to the kitchen, Mrs. Slocombe was just putting the kettle on. She greeted him cheerfully, rescuing the basket of eggs from his overloaded hands. "Oh, you got a good haul this morning, didn't you?" She said happily. "I could just do with a nice big breakfast."

Wil begin slicing the tomatoes. "I'm going to make up a tray to take up to Mavis," he confided. "I'm letting her sleep in, poor girl. She's a bit overworked, don't you think?"

Mrs. Slocombe gave him a sharp glance, to which he responded with an innocent look. Then she relented and turned back to the eggs. "Well, she wouldn't be, if that disgusting father of hers would lighten up his demands on her!"

"True," Wil agreed. He frowned. "Of course, I'd be a lot happier if he would just stop threatening her with that strap!"

"Or worse, using it!" Mrs. Slocombe said, as she started the toast and crack several eggs into the pan. "She should give him what-for, the next time he threatens it!" she declared in no uncertain terms.

"Well, perhaps she's frightened," Wil said. "He is a rather large man after all. I certainly wouldn't want him anywhere near _my_ backside, even without a strap!"

Mrs. Slocombe tsked. "It's just too bad, his treating that poor girl in such a way — and at her age, too! How old is she, Mr. Humphries? Eighteen? Nineteen?"

"Twenty-four," Wil replied absently, as he got out the tray and teacups.

" _Twenty-four!_ " Mrs. Slocombe exclaimed, turning to look at him in shock. "And he still beats her at that age? Is there something we could do about it?"

"She tells me it's only when she's lazy or makes a mistake," he replied. Realizing that it sounded like he was making excuses for the man, he hastened to add, "But honestly, I've never known anyone to work as hard as she does! And who among us doesn't make a mistake from time to time? I agree, Mrs. Slocombe. Something ought to be done. What do you suggest?"

"Well, someone should tell him to keep his hands off her!" She fumed, decanting the eggs onto a plate and beginning to butter the toast with vicious slashes.

Wil gave a mirthless chuckle. "You can't even get him to keep his hands off you!"

Mrs. Slocombe actually growled at the thought, but concern for the girl overrode her temper. "Isn't there something _you_ could do?" she asked.

Wil raised his eyebrows. "I'm on thin ice as it is, what with her spending her nights with me. If I put a finger wrong, he'd probably give _me_ the strap!"

She shook her head. "Weak as water," she muttered. She put the finishing touches on the tray and gave Wil an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "Well, take that up to her and make sure she eats it all. And if her father comes looking for her, just let me deal with 'im!" As usual, her accent shifted when her temper rose.

"Thank you, Mrs. Slocombe," Wil told her, hefting the tray with a grateful smile.

Mavis was still sleeping when he got there, so he set the tray down the foot of the bed. He leaned across the bed and ventured a hand over to stroke the hair out of her face.

"Mavis?" He said quietly. "Mavis? Wake up, dear. I've brought breakfast."

She rolled over, frowning in her sleep. "No, dad," she protested. "Don't! I'll do better next time, I promise!"

Wil's heart clenched at her words. Mrs. Slocombe was right — something would have to be done about this! "Mavis?" He tried again. "It's Wil, dear. No one's going to hurt you. Wake up and have some breakfast, hmm?"

Her eyes blinked open, staring into his in shock for an instant. Then she threw her arms around him and clung. He hugged her back, murmuring comforting nonsense to her, until her arms loosened and she sat back down with plenty of space between them.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. 'Umphries," she said, folding her hands. "I was dreamin,' an' I got a bit scared."

"It's Wil, remember?" he urged. "And as for your throwing yourself into my arms when you wake up… I didn't mind a bit!" He giggled a little.

"I liked it too," Mavis confided, blushing a little.

Wil smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Oh, no!" She moaned. "I've overslept! I've got to get the cows milked and the stock fed—"

"No you don't," he soothed her. "It's all done, and Mrs. Slocombe and I fixed you a nice breakfast."

"Breakfast in bed?" She blinked in surprise. "For me?"

"Yes, and it's getting cold," he said crisply, pulling the tray over into her lap. "You get that lot into you — every bit — and then come down when you're ready. I've done all your morning chores, so there's no hurry."

She beamed up at him as he got to his feet. "Thank you, Wil!"

He returned her smile with a small, fond one of his own. "You're welcome, dear."

He went back down to find the rest of the ranks had gathered. Mrs. Slocombe was busily doing up more eggs for everyone, speaking in quiet tones with Mr. Brahms, who was tending to the toast. They both looked up as he entered, and Mr. Brahms beckoned him over with an eyebrow.

Mr. Rumbold and Capt. Peacock were companionably sharing the paper over their cups of tea; Peacock finished his section and passed it to Rumbold, who sipped his tea and then pushed his own section across the table to Peacock.

"Oh, Mr. Humphries!" Mrs. Slocombe called. "How is that poor girl doing this morning?"

"Poor girl?" asked Peacock. "What poor girl? Miss Moulterd? What seems to be amiss with her?"

Rumbold looked up. "Is Miss Moulterd ill? What's the matter?"

Wil exchanged glances with Mrs. Slocombe and Miss Brahms, and opened his mouth to speak when Maurice Moulterd slammed open the door and stumped in.

"Sorry to barge in when yer snouts' in the trough," he announced in his rough, gravelly voice.

"Then why don't you tend to your own trough?" Mrs. Slocombe asked acidly.

"I would, only that girl of mine ain't made me anything yet! Anyone seen 'er? She don't get down here soon, I'll give 'er the strap! Anyone seen her?" He glanced at Wil. "She's up, i'n't she?"

"Now, you listen to me," Wil said, putting three hard-boiled eggs and a few slices of dry toast into a serviette. "Mavis is going to be working with us today, so if you need something, you'll have to come straight to Mr. Rumbold about it." He shoved the serviette full of food into his hands.

"Aye," Moulterd agreed. "But if she don't give sa'isfaction, you let me know. I'll give 'er the strap!" He turned and lumbered out.

Rumbold frowned. "Mr. Humphries, what is going on?"

Wil cleared his throat. "Mr. Rumbold, tell me something. Do you consider it appropriate, in the modern world, for one adult to _beat_ another for making a mistake?"

"Of course not!"

"Or to stand by and do nothing while a 20-stone man assaults a 6-stone woman with a leather strap?"

"Certainly not! What do you take me for?" Rumbold looked offended.

"Then why, pray tell, have we—all of us—accepted Mr. Moulterd's penchant for taking the strap to his daughter? And for the smallest infractions?"

Rumbold's eyebrows shot up. "Well!"

Captain Peacock cleared his throat. "One doesn't feel comfortable interfering with family matters," he explained. "In a small village like this, there is the historical aspect to consider. After all, there have been Moulterds in this village for hundreds of years. They're a respectable family. The villagers already don't like us because we're outsiders. How much worse would it get if we interfered with one of their families?"

"Captain Peacock! Are you suggesting that we ought to just stand by and let that poor girl get beaten by that monstrous lout, any time he wishes, out of fear for what the villagers will think of us?" Mrs. Slocombe exploded.

Peacock backpedaled. "No, of course not. I merely suggest that we tread carefully."

Wil gave an exasperated sigh. "Well, you can tread carefully if you want to. Mrs. Slocombe and I are going to do our best to see that he never lays a hand on her again!"

"Yeah, me an' all!" Shirley Brahms agreed. "It is a shame, is what it is, that she should be so 'ard-workin' and not even getting' paid for it! An' 'avin' 'er dad always threatening 'er wif that strap. I'd like to see 'im try that wif me!" she muttered darkly.

"Indeed," Peacock agreed. "Perhaps we could sell tickets, and raise the tax money that way!" He chuckled a little at Miss Brahms' glare. "I'm just winding you up," he confided. Miss Brahms rolled her eyes.

"Well, I agree with Mr. Humphries," Rumbold said. "We have definitely been too lax with Mr. Moulterd, especially as regards his treatment of his daughter. But I also agree with Captain Peacock, that we ought to be circumspect with how we intervene. And Miss Brahms, I also agree with you: the girl ought to be paid. It seems too bad that all of us should be taking salaries when we have guests, and Miss Moulterd does the lion's share of the work and gets nothing. Hands, those who are willing to take a small cut in pay, in order that Miss Moulterd can begin to receive a small salary?" He raised his hand.

Wil's hand shot up, followed by Mrs. Slocombe's. Miss Brahms looked as if she regretted opening her mouth, but her hand slowly rose. They all looked at Captain Peacock.

He gave them an impatient look. "If you recall, I'm the one who suggested it when we first arrived!"

"Excellent!" Rumbold beamed. "I shall inform Miss Lovelock immediately. In the meantime, let's just do what we're doing already—try to keep young Mavis busy with us, away from her father. It might help if one of us acts as a sort of chaperon when they're together. That way, we can intervene without causing offense, by coming up with a task for her elsewhere."

"Will that satisfy everyone regarding Miss Moulterd's well-being?" Peacock asked.

"Well, it will do for now," Mrs. Slocombe allowed.

"I agree; it's a short-term solution only," Wil put in. "But we'll try it and see how it goes."

Mavis came down a few minutes later, carrying her breakfast tray. She unloaded it by the sink and then went over to Wil and gave him a hug. "Thank you for breakfast, Mr. 'Umphries!" To Mrs. Slocombe's surprise, she came over and hugged her as well. "Breakfast were lovely, Mrs. Slocombe. Thank you!"

"Oh!" Mrs. Slocombe exclaimed, pleased. "You're very welcome, luv. You work hard enough for the rest of us, you quite deserved a morning off!"

"Well, I better get going on these dishes," Mavis announced, clearing the table and bringing the dishes all over to the sink. "Did anyone think to give Dad 'is breakfast?"

"I believe Mr. Humphries took care of it," Mrs. Slocombe said, casting Wil a mischievous smile.

He chuckled a little, with an undertone of satisfaction. "Yes, he oughtn't to be bothering us this morning," he said.

"Aw, thank you, Mr. Umphries!" Mavis said happily, starting the dishes. "Tha's a load off my mind, tha' is."

"Not at all, dear. Here, I'll wipe," Wil offered, picking up a dishtowel.


	3. Getting Ready for the Guest

After the dishes, there were the beds, the laundry, the dusting and hoovering, and the outside chores. Wil, Miss Brahms, and Mrs. Slocombe took it in turns to work with Mavis to get the entire house cleaned up and ready for the weekend guests.

"Who's comin', anyway?" Miss Brahms asked, over the lunch table as they all dug into their chicken salad sandwiches.

"Ah!" Rumbold said, pulling a card out of his pocket. "Miss Lovelock made the arrangements over a week ago. It seems there's a fellow with an old connection to Grace Brothers, who might be interested in investing in Millstone Manor! So we all must be on our best behavior, and muck in together to make sure that the gentleman wants for nothing during his time here. It seems he's, uh, he's left his departure open-ended."

"You mean we don't know when 'e's leaving?" Mrs. Slocombe asked.

"That's it precisely, Mrs. Slocombe," Rumbold replied.

She glanced at Miss Brahms. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that," she said in an undertone.

"Oh, I dunno," Miss Brahms replied. "'E might be single an' 'andsome!"

Mrs. Slocombe sighed. "If he is, you're welcome to him! I'm done with all that. At least for a while," she added.

"Connected with Grace Brothers?" Captain Peacock asked. "Do we have any idea who he might be?"

Rumbold shook his head. "No idea. Miss Lovelock seemed to know him—she called him R.J. It seems she met him on one of her trips with Young Mr. Grace, and, er, seemed quite friendly with him."

"R.J.? Not Ronald Jervis of the shoe department? But he's older than we are! And asthmatic!" Peacock sputtered.

"I don't know, but I shouldn't think it was Mr. Jervis. Miss Lovelock implied that it was a much younger man. Well, younger, anyway. She said, and I quote, 'he's not as young as he thinks he is, but he's not bad, for all that.'"

"Hmm, I wonder if he's anyone we know?" Wil mused. "Well, no good speculating when we've got no facts. Captain Peacock, do you suppose you could press Miss Lovelock for some further details? She does seem to have a soft spot for you."

Peacock preened. "I can certainly try!"

"Very good, Captain Peacock," Rumbold said. "Meanwhile, how are things in the house and grounds? Will we be ready for our V.I.P guest?"

"The 'ouse is sparklin'," Miss Brahms replied. "Sheets is washed and 'ung out to dry, floors is done, an' the larder ought to be restocked this afternoon, if Mavis and Mr. Humphries can take the cart to town and do the shoppin'."

"We should be able to," Wil answered.

"Very good. What about the grounds and the farm?" Rumbold pressed.

Mrs. Slocombe cleared her throat. "I shall go round this afternoon and do an inspection while Mavis is in town. That will keep her away from that awful man, and if there's anything to be done on the farm, I think we ought to do it ourselves."

"In light of what came out this morning, I think I agree," Rumbold agreed somberly. "Mrs. Slocombe, you can milk the cows, can't you? And Miss Brahms and I can tend to the feeding of the animals if Captain Peacock will do the, uh, 'mucking out' as I believe it's called."

Peacock grimaced. "What is Mr. Moulterd going to do, then?"

"Oh, dear. I forgot him."

"In that case, may I suggest that Moulterd do the mucking-out, while I go tend to the vegetable garden?" Peacock said.

"How appropriate," Mrs. Slocombe remarked. "In both cases!"

Peacock glared at her, and she gave him a saccharine smile in return. He cleared his throat and looked away.

"Yes, yes, fine," Rumbold agreed. "Uh, where is Mavis at the moment?"

Everyone looked at Mr. Humphries. "Well, don't look at me," he protested, his voice rising in a self-conscious squeak. "I'm not her keeper!"

"Yes, but you are her closest friend," Mrs. Slocombe replied.

"Or more-than-friend," Miss Brahms muttered.

Rumbold cleared his throat. "We're not implying anything about your, er, relationship with Mavis, Mr. Humphries, but the two of you do spend a lot of time together. We were merely wondering if you knew where she was."

"I left her cleaning the upstairs bath while I came down for the clean sheets and towels. I gave her the sheets, told her the towels weren't dry yet and we'd get them after lunch. I invited her down to join us for lunch, but she said she'd just finish upstairs first and then be down."

"But that's more than a 'alf-hour ago!" Miss Brahms exclaimed. "Where'd she get to? We can't send Mr. Humphries into town by 'imself—he'd make a right dog's breakfast of the shopping... and probably get thrashed by Malcolm Heathcliffe an' all!"

"Thank you very much!" Wil exclaimed, affronted. "I assure you, I can handle myself very well in a tight spot, Miss Brahms! Very well indeed!"

She grinned at him. "That's what I'd 'eard, but I was beginning to wonder!"

Peacock stood up. "Miss Brahms, would you accompany me round the grounds, and see if we can locate Miss Moulterd? Mrs. Slocombe, perhaps you and Mr. Humphries would check upstairs for her? Mr. Rumbold can do the washing-up from lunch," he finished with a nod at their manager.

Rumbold sighed. "Oh, very well."

They scattered.

Wil went up stairs with Mrs. Slocombe, and then they separated at the top of the stairs. "I shall check the guest rooms, Mr. Humphries," she directed, "and you shall check the staff rooms."

He nodded and started down the hall. He had already been through Rumbold's and Peacock's rooms, and climbed up into the attic. "Hello, Puss-in-Wall," he greeted the desiccated cat. "You haven't seen a girl up here lately, have you? No? Well, then." He headed back down, peeked into the room Miss Brahms shared with Mrs. Slocombe, and finally went to his own room.

That's where he found her, curled up on a fetal position on the bed, wrapped in a quilt, hugging a pillow, and crying.

"Mavis!" he cried. "What's happened? Are you all right, dear?" He ran to her and pulled her into his arms.

She threw her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder. "It's—it's—it's..." she couldn't speak.

"There, there, dear," he comforted. "You just get it all out, that's the way." He rocked her a little, and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. "Now, take a deep breath, calm down a little, and tell me what's wrong."

Mavis nodded, sniffled, and took a few deep, quavering breaths. Wil lifted her face and used his handkerchief to dry her eyes. He kissed her forehead gently, and smiled.

"Now, then. Tell me what happened."

"It's me dad," she whispered. "After you brought up the sheets, I went outdoors to see if the towels were dry yet, an' 'e caught me an' gave me the strap again, 'cause I didn't muck out the cows this morning."

"But I did that!" Wil protested.

"I suppose you 'adn't done it yet by the time 'e went by to check," she said. "An' 'e weren't best pleased by my sleepin' in, either—'e says we got too much to do, and you lot shouldn't be bothered with doin' it all."

"So he gave you the strap because I let you sleep and we did your chores for you?" Wil asked in horror.

She nodded. "It i'n't your fault, Wil," she said. "I shouldn't've stayed in bed so long! 'E's right, my dad. We're the ones who ought to be doin' most o' the work!"

"We'll just see about that!" he muttered grimly. He gave Mavis another hug, and kissed her on the temple. "Are you all right, though?"

"I don't feel quite right."

"No, I should say not!" Wil exclaimed, his eyes wide. "But Mavis dear, if you'll pardon my asking... I understand it hurts, but did he _damage_ you at all?"

Her face twisted. "I dunno. It 'urts a lot. 'E were right mad, an' I think 'e got me 'arder than usual." She looked up at him with apprehension. "Wil, I'm sorry to ask, but do you think you could get one of the ladies to come up?"

He leaped to his feet, and she winced at the mattress shifting. "Say no more: Mrs. Slocombe is up here already." He was out the door in a flash.

Mrs. Slocombe had just finished checking the guest bathroom when he caught up with her. "Mrs. Slocombe, I've found her in bed in our room. Would you mind joining us there?"

"I beg your pardon?!"

"No, no, it's—well, her father disapproved of her taking her ease at our insistence this morning, and gave her the strap in spite of our efforts."

"Oh, the poor dear! Is she all right?"

He frowned anxiously. "That's the thing, I don't know. She asked if one of the ladies would come to see her—presumably to check her, er, injuries. She couldn't very well ask me, could she?"

"Could she?" Mrs. Slocombe gave him a sharp look.

"Certainly not!" he squeaked. "Anyway, come on. The poor girl's in a lot of pain."

Mrs. Slocombe pushed open the door. "Oh, your poor thing!" she exclaimed. She went and gave Mavis a careful hug. She looked up at Wil. "Mr. Humphries, would you mind giving us a few minutes?"

"Of course. I'll be right out here," he said, exiting to the hallway and closing the door behind him. He took a position in front of it as if to guard the entrance, all the while trying to make out the whispering that he couldn't quite hear from inside the room.

It was no good; he couldn't understand a word. He sighed and crossed his arms.

Mrs. Slocombe opened the door just wide enough to stick her head out. "Mr. Humphries, would you please bring us a bowl of clean water, a cloth, and some antibacterial ointment?"

She had wounds that needed cleaning? Wil's mouth fell open, and his eyebrows lowered. "Right away," he said in a low, angry voice. He was back with the things in a minute, and passed them through the door, which closed again with a definitive click.

The door opened again after a few minutes, and Mrs. Slocombe came storming out. "Stand aside, Mr. Humphries!" she grated. "I'm Just Going to Have a Word With Mister Rumbold!"

Wil leaped aside with alacrity; it wouldn't do to get in her way when she was in a mood like that! "But Mrs. Slocombe, is she all right?"

"I think she will be," her voice floated behind her as she strode down the hallway toward the stairs. "But I can't say the same for that father of hers!"

"Too right," Wil muttered. He stuck his head around the corner of the door. He knocked on the frame. "Is it safe to come in yet?" he asked.

Mavis looked up, red-eyed. "Yeah," she said. "Mrs. Slocombe says I'll live," she said with a wry smile.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it!" Wil exclaimed. He went in and perched on the bed next to her, and put his arm around her. "Just between you and me, with her on the case, I wouldn't think you'd have to worry about getting the strap, ever again!"


	4. Short-Staffed

Mrs. Slocombe marched down the stairs with a full head of steam. She found Rumbold in the kitchen, just finishing the washing-up. "Mister Rumbold!" she announced. "You must sack that horrid man!"

"Mrs. Slocombe, I thought we agreed to be circumspect in our handling of the situation," he protested.

"Circumspect! He's strapped her again, just this afternoon, and near enough to done her a serious injury!"

"What?!" Rumbold exclaimed.

"She hurried out just before lunch, and her father found her and walloped her with his belt, for 'letting' Mr. Humphries and the rest of us do the chores this morning while she slept in."

Mr. Rumbold frowned. "That seems very unreasonable," he murmured.

"Unreasonable?!" she shouted. "It's unreasonable for him to be smacking around a grown woman in the first place—never mind what she did or didn't do! And strapping her very hard, too! She'll have bruises for a week—that is, once it stops bleeding! You have to give him the sack, Mr. Rumbold!"

Rumbold gulped. "B-bleeding? Yes, of course, Mrs. Slocombe. I'll talk to Captain Peacock and we'll see to it right away. Where is the girl now?"

"Upstairs. Mr. Humphries is taking care of her."

"Indeed." Rumbold nodded. "You know, I had my doubts about their relationship at first, because although Mavis seems to be very good for Mr. Humphries, I wasn't sure he'd be so good for her. His age, you know, and his, well, his..."

"Unconventional proclivities?"

"Just so. But I must say, he has stepped up very well. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he started pushing around that young man at the darts game! He's quite protective of her, isn't he?"

"Yes, but with good reason! I think it's time we did something to help them. Not only sacking that disgusting father of hers, but I'd like to take care of that bully in the village while we're at it! It won't do Mr. Humphries much good to feel protective if he's in hospital after that young Heathcliffe hooligan gets hold of him!"

"We'll have a discussion about that as well, then. We'll have to figure out what to do about the home farm, too. If Moulterd really is a danger to his daughter, then I don't even want him on the premises!"

"Quite right, too."

At that moment, Miss Lovelock came striding into the kitchen. "Good news! I bring good news! Oh, where is everyone?"

"We're here," replied Peacock, as he and Miss Brahms came in.

"Yes, and we didn't find her," Miss Brahms told Mrs. Slocombe.

"Oh, that's all right. She was upstairs the whole time—she's had a bit of a nasty experience. Mr. Humphries is with her now." Peacock put the kettle on and sat down at the table, while Mrs. Slocombe got the tea out.

"Let's just—leave them alone for now," Rumbold said uncomfortably. "Miss Lovelock was about to give us some good news!"

"She's leaving?" Miss Brahms asked brightly.

Miss Lovelock gave her a withering glance. "Actually, no. I've just got another reason to stay! My friend R.J. is on his way, and should be here very soon!"

"The investor? He's coming today? Oh, he has all the timing of a broken clock!" Mrs. Slocombe moaned.

Peacock frowned. "I don't see what the problem is. We're all ready for him."

"It's just—" Mrs. Slocombe gave her comrades a significant look. "What with Mavis and all..." she let her voice trail off.

"What's wrong with Mavis?" asked Miss Lovelock carelessly.

"I believe it's a private matter," Mrs. Slocombe said primly.

Miss Lovelock laughed. "Don't tell me she's up the duff!"

"Miss Lovelock!" Captain Peacock remonstrated. "Even if she were, which she isn't, it would hardly be right to gossip about it, or laugh it off in that uncaring fashion!"

"Oh, lighten up, darling! Well, I've delivered my news so I'm going back to my quarters now. I have some tack to clean. I'm hoping to go riding with R.J. when he arrives!" She flounced out.

"I don't like that woman," Miss Brahms muttered.

Peacock leaned forward. "What news, Mrs. Slocombe? Mavis was upstairs? What was that nasty experience you mentioned?"

"Yeah, what 'appened?"

The kettle whistled, and Mrs. Slocombe got up and busied herself making a pot of tea. "That filthy, sadistic lout of a father of hers got hold of her again this morning, that's what happened."

"He didn't, er, punish her again, did he?"

"He most certainly did! And he was apparently in a right rage when he did it! The poor girl's whole back side was torn up."

"He tore up 'er backside?" Miss Brahms gasped.

"Not just her backside, Miss Brahms. She's got welts on her whole lower back, and on the backs of her legs down to the knees. He even broke the skin with some of them. She asked for me to come and check on her injuries, you see. Honestly, I think she ought to see a doctor, but when I suggested it, she wouldn't have it. She said the only doctor near here is a friend of her father's."

"Well that's rubbish," Miss Brahms declared. "She ought to see a proper doctor!"

"If she won't go to the one in Great Tender, perhaps she could see one in one of the nearer cities," Rumbold suggested. "I'm sure there would be a satisfactory clinic in, say, Dorset?"

Peacock asked, "Who's going to take her, then? No one here's got a car."

Mrs. Slocombe thought a moment. "We can hire a car. Stephen, you could drive her there, couldn't you?"

"I'd be happy to, but what about the investor? We need everyone on hand for the investor, who will be here any moment."

"The investor can suck eggs!" Mrs. Slocombe replied angrily. "We need to take care of that girl!"

"While I admire your conviction, Mrs. Slocombe," Rumbold said, "The fact remains that we need to take care of the investor as well. If he likes it here and wishes to invest, it could be the making of us! We could finally hire some staff and not have to do it all ourselves."

Mrs. Slocombe subsided, muttering. "All right, but I'm not sending that vulnerable girl alone with Captain Peacock down to Dorset. Me or Mr. Humphries ought to go with her!"

Peacock agreed. "Not that I would do anything to harm the girl," he said with a hard look at Mrs. Slocombe, "But in her current condition, I think she would be more comfortable with someone she knows well."

"So now we'll be down three staff, just as the investor is due to arrive. And I have to sack Moulterd as well. I don't know how we're going to manage, but I agree, young Mavis ought to take priority. The rest of us will just have to do the best we can. Perhaps we can simply explain that one of our staff has been injured—without giving details of course—and let it go at that." Rumbold nodded, glad to have made the decision.

"Right. I'll go up and tell her," Mrs. Slocombe said.


	5. The Investor Arrives

The sight that met Mrs. Slocombe's eyes when she opened the door made her smile. Mavis was lying on her side facing Mr. Humphries, fast asleep. Mr. Humphries was lying with his arms around her, with his face buried in her hair. One hand was gently stroking her hair and shoulder. His eyes popped open when Mrs. Slocombe crept in. He pursed his lips in a shushing gesture, and she nodded and stepped back out into the hallway. Carefully he extracted himself from being wrapped around Mavis, bent and gave her a gentle kiss on the hairline, and went out into the hallway with Mrs. Slocombe.

"What's going on downstairs?" he asked quietly.

"Her father's getting the sack, Captain Peacock is going to hire a car and take her to a doctor in Dorset, and Miss Lovelock says the mysterious investor is due here any minute."

"Oh, it's all going on at once, isn't it?" he exclaimed with raised eyebrows. "I don't know if she'll want to go for a drive with Captain Peacock, though."

"Mr. Rumbold said that you or I might go with them."

"Do you want to?" he asked rather sharply.

She shrugged. "If she wants me to, but she'd probably prefer you. Do you want to?"

He blushed a little and looked away. "I'm, er, I'm quite concerned about her, Mrs. Slocombe."

She patted his shoulder. "Quite right, Mr. Humphries. I'll go tell Mr. Rumbold that you'll be accompanying her and Captain Peacock."

They heard movement inside the room, and turned to see Mavis open the door. She moved painfully, but was smiling. "Oh, hello, Mrs. Slocombe! I didn't hear you come up. Is there any lunch left?"

"Oh, yes, Mavis. Would you like to come down and have a bit of nosh? I'm sure it will do you good."

"Yes, thanks! And thank you for helping me earlier. I'm feeling much better now!"

"Not at all. You should be aware that Mr. Rumbold is not pleased with your father for what he did. None of us are! There may be some serious consequences for it. You should prepare yourself!"

Mavis ducked her head. "I'm sure Mr. Rumbold will do what's right," she replied, subdued.

"I know he will," Mrs. Slocombe said confidently. Aside to Mr. Humphries, she added, "He will if he knows what's good for him!"

Wil gave her a conspiratorial grin, and offered his arms to both ladies to head down the stairs together.

After Mrs. Slocombe went upstairs, there was a moment of awkward silence.

"So what do we do now?" Miss Brahms asked.

Rumbold shrugged. "I suppose the next order of business is to, er, go and sack Mr. Moulterd. I admit, I'm not looking forward to that he is… rather a large man."

"Let's all go do it together," Miss Brahms suggested. "Safety in numbers an' all, plus that way I can be sure you two won't back down!"

Rumbold gave her a hard look, but shrugged and acquiesced. "Very well. And once he's out, Captain Peacock — when you go into the village for the car, would you place an advertisement for a new home-farm worker? Miss Brahms and I shall stay here and wait the investor."

"Helloo, Mr. Rumbles!" Moulterd greeted them affably. "What'cher need?"

The confrontation with Moulterd was ugly, with Moulterd griping bitterly about "big-city strangers" coming to the country and "interferin' with 'ow a man brings up his own daugh'er" and how they were "puttin' an old man out of 'is own 'ome," and similar complaints. He was quite angry at them.

Miss Brahms finally had enough. "You're not too old to beat your daughter bloody, so leave off! As for bein' put out of your 'ome, why, you shouldn't 'ave assaulted one of _our_ employees! Would any manager keep on a man who rendered another employee unfit for work? Of course not! So you'll shut your gob, get your things, and get out! If you're still on the grounds 20 minutes from now, I won't be responsible for what happens to you!"

She took a step closer, eyes flashing, and threatened, "Or maybe I _will_!"

Moulterd paled, nodded, tugged the brim of his hat, and backed away. Rumbold and Peacock looked at her with respect and a little bit of fear.

"Miss Brahms, I had no idea you could command that level of —" Rumbold cast about for the right word.

Captain Peacock supplied it. "Terror!"

Rumbold nodded, eyes wide.

"I did!" called a laughing voice from behind them. "Mind you, you become immune to it after a while." A tall man carrying a large suitcase sauntered up to them. He looked to be in his mid-40s, with distinguished-looking, salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a natty double-breasted suit in dark blue, low leather shoes, and a big smile.

"Blimey!" Miss Brahms exclaimed. "It's our Mr. Lucas!"

"Good Lord, really?" Rumbold asked, dumbfounded.

"So it would seem," Captain Peacock noted.

Miss Brahms went to greet him. A handshake, a brief exchange of kisses on cheeks, and Lucas whispered something in her ear that made her blush and smack him on the arm.

His grin widened. "Mr. Rumbold, Captain Peacock, how are you?" He shook hands cordially with them in turn. "I couldn't believe it when Jessica told me you lot had all retired out here after Grace Brothers closed its doors."

"Oh, do you know Miss Lovelock?" Peacock asked.

Lucas frowned. "Of course I do. Didn't she tell you I was coming?"

Miss Brahms smacked him again. "You mean, _you're_ the one what wants to invest in this place?"

Lucas grabbed her smacking hand before she could draw it back, and brought it up to his lips. He placed a loud, playful kiss on it, and released it with an innocent look. "Why sound so surprised, Shirley?"

"Where'd you cop the lolly?"

"I was fortunate enough to have a well-to-do uncle, me mum's brother, who doted on me. When he passed on, he left me the whole caboodle. In the midst of my grief, I encountered Miss Lovelock with Young Mr. Grace, while I was scuba diving one day."

"Scuba diving! Oh, you was grievin' 'eavy." Miss Brahms put in, rolling her eyes.

Lucas ignored her, taking a noble stance with his hands on his lapels, looking off into the distance. "I was able to render a small service to Miss Lovelock."

"What'd you do?"

He grinned. "I found the top of her cozzie when she lost it!"

"Did you really?" Captain Peacock asked, smirking.

"I did, and it fostered our acquaintance during Young Mr. Grace's sad passing. I stayed with her in her time of need —"

Rumbold cleared his throat pointedly.

Lucas flashed them a quick grin and continued with his story. "In the ensuing weeks — well, days, really, I was overcome with nostalgia and resolved to come here as soon as I wrapped up some business at home, and pay you all a visit and see if the place was worth anything. I never expected to see Miss Brahms threatening the life of one of the locals, though. What did the bugger do, anyway?"

"Language, Lucas!" Peacock remonstrated. "There is a lady present."

Lucas laughed. "If I invest in this place, Captain Peacock, I'll be your equal and you won't be able to boss me around anymore. And whether I do or not, I'll talk how I please. Assuming Miss Brahms wasn't offended?" He asked her with a courtly bow.

She shrugged. "It's all one to me, I'm from Catford!"

"So what _did_ the bugger do?"

Miss Brahms answered. "The bugger beat his daughter, who works for us, black an' blue an' bloody. She's just a young, sweet, little girl an' he gives her the strap for any little thing. Well, this morning we decided to keep 'er away from 'im, for her own safety. What's he do? He tracks 'er down and beats 'er for doing what we told her to do!"

Lucas clenched his fist. "Anyone want to take the strap to him?" he asked brightly. "What about getting the law on him?"

Rumbold shook his head. "I know we're doing the right thing, but it may cost us the Manor," he lamented. "Moulterd is a pillar of the community, and he and the magistrate go way, way back."

"Yeah, and he already don't like us big-city folks takin' over the Manor," Miss Brahms added.

"I'm afraid we have very few friends here, and some rather powerful enemies," Peacock said. "We don't regret letting Moulterd go, but it may have some serious repercussions for us."

Lucas, serious now, nodded. "Well, I'll be here for a while. I'll be happy to help where I can."

"Thank you, Mr. Lucas," Miss Brahms said sweetly.

He gave her his old, charming, Lucas smile. "Call me R.J., Shirley. It's really great to see you again!"

"'R.J.'?" Peacock asked, as Lucas picked up his case and they meandered toward the kitchen door.

"What's it stand for?" Miss Brahms asked.

"R.J. Lucas. Richard James. Don't you remember American week? Everyone calling me 'Dick' all week long?" He offered her his free arm, and she took it.

"Oh, really? I would think you'd enjoy it! You've changed a lot," she observed, giving him a frank perusal from head to toe.

Suddenly serious, he nodded. "I have done. I hope you like the changes, Shirley."

"I'll have to wait and see, won't I?" she flirted. "Yeah, there's been some big changes 'ere and all! _Big_ changes!"


	6. Lucas and Humphries, Together Again

In the kitchen, Mavis had finished her lunch and was standing at the counter, sipping her tea. "I can't help but feel sorry for dad," she said quietly. "I know 'e ain't been the best father, but 'e's a hard worker and 'e's always lived here. I don't know what he'll do now. If he gets the sack they won't let him stay in the cottage, will they?"

"We certainly will not!" Mrs. Slocum said with a very decisive tilt to her head.

"But what will you do wi'out him to work the farm?" Mavis asked worriedly. "I can do most of it, but not everything."

"We'll figure something out, dear," Wil soothed. "Don't worry yourself. We're a very resourceful bunch."

Mavis gave him a small smile and slipped her arm around his waist. "I know that already!"

He put his arm over her shoulder, high enough not to touch her wounds, and tapped the tip of her nose with his other forefinger. "So you should let _us_ worry about that, and _you_ just concentrate on healing quickly." The smile faded from his face, and the concern shone from his eyes. "I do hate to see you in pain."

"Aww," Mavis said, and gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. "You are a lovely man! You're so—wha's the word?—compassionate." Her face hardened. "Somehow I can't picture Malcolm 'Eathcliff being as nice to me as what you are. Especially just over a strappin'! He'd be more likely to say I deserved it, or stand by an' laugh, not sack him for doing it!"

Wil scowled. "I'd like to see him lay a finger on you!" he said, his usually high voice pitched low and grating. "He'd likely thrash the stuffing out of me, but I'd get in a few good licks first, I can promise you that!"

Mrs. Slocombe, sitting at the table, added, "And he wouldn't be alone, either!"

Mavis started to tear up. "You're all so kind!" she quavered. "I've never 'ad anyone take care of me like this before!" She buried her face in Wil's shoulder and he put his other arm around her as well, squeezed her tight, and pressed his lips to her temple.

"Well, now," came a new voice from the doorway. "Miss Brahms said there'd been some big changes, but I hadn't expected a change _this_ big!"

"Good God!" Wil exclaimed in shock, eyebrows nearly hitting his hairline.

"Oh, good heavens!" Mrs. Slocombe gasped. "It's our young Mr. Lucas!"

Lucas laughed and came over to give Mrs. Slocombe a kiss on the cheek. "Mrs. Slocombe, I think I love you for that! I haven't been called 'young' Mr. Lucas in a very long time!" He took both of her hands and smacked a loud kiss onto the back of each.

"Oh, get off!" Mrs. Slocombe protested with a smile, pushing him away. She looked at him keenly, and said, "I must say, you're looking quite handsome with a few more years on your face, young man!"

He grinned. "Ah, thank you, Mrs. Slocombe! I must tell you though: flattery will get you nowhere. My heart belongs to Miss Brahms."

"Oh, give over," came Miss Brahms' embarrassed protest from the doorway.

Lucas turned to where Wil and Mavis were still embracing by the counter.

"Mr. Humphries!" he greeted joyfully, opening his arms wide.

Recovering from his shock, Wil released Mavis and ran over to Lucas. He leaped up into his arms. Lucas spun him around once, and then dropped him back on his feet, and they leaned in to give each other dramatic air-kisses.

Then they both burst into schoolboy giggles.

"Oh, God, it's been so long!" Lucas chortled.

Wil waggled his eyebrows in that campy way that he know would send Lucas into fits. "So I've been told!" he said primly.

Lucas burst out laughing again, and shook Wil's hand in a much more manly way. "It's good to see you, Mr. Humphries!"

"Likewise, I'm sure, but what are you doing here?" Wil asked in amazement. He'd just been thinking about Lucas the other night!

"'E's the mysterious investor!" Miss Brahms informed him.

" _You?!_ " Wil asked.

"The investor's a friend of yours?" Mavis asked. "Well, that's lucky, i'n't it?"

Lucas smiled his old, charming smile at her. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure!"

"And you won't, either," Wil interrupted Lucas with a pointed look.

"Ah!" Lucas said, eyebrows rising. "Shirley was right about the _big_ changes!"

Rumbold stepped in with introductions. "Lucas, this is Miss Mavis Moulterd," he said. "Mavis, this is Mr. R.J. Lucas, another former Grace Brothers employee. He worked with all of us, years ago."

"Oh, you're Miss Lovelock's R.J.," Mavis put two and two together. "She's been talking about you for days!"

"Has she?" Lucas looked uncomfortable. "Suppose I ought to go see her. Where is she?"

Peacock answered. "She has the groom's quarters above the stable."

Lucas nodded. "Right." He swallowed, as if steeling himself for something unpleasant, and headed for the door just as Miss Lovelock appeared.

"R.J., darling! I _thought_ that was your car outside!" She came running over to him, plastered herself against him, and smacked a loud kiss right onto his lips.

Lucas' arms flailed about wildly for a moment, and then settled on her shoulders to push her away. He kept her firmly at arms' length. "J-j-jessica!" he stammered. "You're looking well."

"So are you, darling," she purred. "Want to come out to the stables with me? I'm dying to get you all to myself!"

"Er, well, I was actually thinking I'd spend some time here first, and catch up with my friends a little," Lucas replied, tugging self-consciously at his collar.

"Actually, Mr. Lucas," Peacock began. "If you have a car here and wouldn't mind making a little trip to Dorset in it, we have a little bit of an emergency to take care of. I'd been going to hire a car down in the village, but if you wouldn't mind using yours..."

"I am absolutely at your disposal, Captain Peacock, and so is my car," Lucas volunteered with visible relief.

"Well, then. I suppose I'll just see you when you get back," Miss Lovelock told him sourly, and flounced out the door.

Lucas blew out a long breath and shook his head. "Whew. Mad, she is. Thanks for the rescue, Captain Peacock."

"Not at all."

"She's keen as mustard, but she doesn't seem to realize I'm not interested."

"No, really, Mr. Lucas. It was not at all a rescue. We really do need your help."

Lucas was all business. "What's your emergency?"

"It's Mavis," Wil volunteered. "Mrs. Slocombe and I think she ought to see a doctor, but the one here in the village won't do. However, there's one in Dorset who might suit."

"I told you, I don't need a doctor," Mavis protested.

"Remember what Mr. Humphries said," Mrs. Slocombe reminded her. "About your healing as quickly as you can? We would really feel much better about the whole thing if you did see a doctor. Why don't you and Mr. Humphries ride down to Dorset with Mr. Lucas, and just get yourself seen to."

Lucas' eyes widened. "Oh! _This_ is that 'sweet little girl' you were talking about?" he asked Miss Brahms.

She nodded. "Of course!"

"Say no more! Lucas's Ambulance Service, with door-to-door service, running daily from Great Tender to Dorset in half the time of a real ambulance!" He gave Mavis a charming smile, and offered one arm to her and the other to Mr. Humphries.

Wil chuckled at Lucas' antics, but took his arm, and the three of them headed out.


	7. Under a Doctor's Care

They didn't speak much on the way to Dorset, because Mavis wasn't in a mood to talk, and Lucas felt awkward talking over his shoulder to Mr. Humphries in the back. He did notice that they held hands over Mavis' shoulder for part of the trip, and he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see the day," he muttered under his breath.

The doctor was able to see Mavis after only a short wait, so when she was gone, Lucas figuratively pounced. "So, Mr. Humphries. What's going on here?" He gestured toward Mavis' empty chair.

Wil flushed, blinked, and looked away. "Honestly, I have no idea," he admitted. "It's...new."

"I'll say!" Lucas said with a laugh. "Well, Miss Brahms says she's a very sweet little thing, and she's certainly very pretty. If you were going to, er, 'try something new,' as you say, you could do a lot worse."

Wil smiled. "I could do, and I have done!" he agreed. He sobered. "She's very young, though."

"Well, does she like, uh, older men?"

Wil shrugged. "I hardly know. She seems to like _me_ , at any rate."

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Lucas teased.

"I shall smack your hand in a minute," Wil warned.

The two men grinned at each other over how quickly they fell into their old banter.

Mavis came out a few minutes later. "I'm ready to leave," she said.

"What did the doctor say?" Mr. Humphries asked solicitously. "Are you going to be all right?"

She nodded, self-conscious. "Yeah, I'm mostly just bruised. He gave me some ointment for the cuts, and some painkillers. I'll be fine in a few days."

"Excellent! Home in time for supper." Lucas rubbed his hands in anticipation.

"There'll be no supper if I'm not there t'cook it," Mavis said.

"Well, the others are all still there... but considering Miss Brahms' cooking, perhaps we ought to stop for takeaway on the way home," Wil mused.

"Say no more." Lucas took them to a small restaurant and bought dinner for everyone. Their entrance back at the Manor was greeted with loud cries of welcome, as Rumbold, Peacock, and Miss Brahms had been working in the field all afternoon and they were ravenous.

The rest of the evening was filled with lighthearted conversation and reminiscing about the old days at Grace Brothers, and everyone went up to bed in a good mood.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Yes, it's a short chapter, but fear not. The story is complete, and I will be posting 2 or 3 chapters per day until it's all here._

 _Also, please comment! I've enjoyed the comments from my 1 (one) noble reviewer, but I'd enjoy getting a little more feedback from the rest of you._

 _Doesn't matter whether you like it or not, please tell me. Only, if you don't like it, give me some legitimate critique explaining why. That's the only way I'm going to improve as a writer._

 _Thank you! -Clev]_


	8. A Graceful Change of Subject

Mavis had made up some liniment for her bruises, and asked for Wil to help her apply it before bed that night. He blushed bright red when she first asked, but relaxed when she only meant behind her knees (it hurt her to bend that far) and on her middle and lower back, which she couldn't reach easily. Then she changed into her nightgown in the en-suite (Wil winced in sympathy to hear her hisses of pain through the door) and got into bed very gingerly.

Mavis and Wil had taken to snuggling together so they could talk before they fell asleep without everyone else in the wing hearing their conversation. They'd discovered fairly early on that sound carried; the resonant tones of Captain Peacock doing his before-bed humming had mystified them for days before Mavis had finally asked him about it.

Tonight, when they went up, Wil had asked if she'd like him to sleep on the floor, so as not to jar her bruises when he changed position in bed.

"No, o' course not! Even if I hurt a little, I'd rather 'ave you here in bed wi' me!"

"I shall be very careful, then," he promised. Now, she eased her way over to him under the covers, and they took a few minutes to find a decent position close together, that didn't hurt her bruises. They ended up on their sides, facing each other, with Wil's arm over her unblemished shoulders and her hands tucked under his chin, and they settled in for their nightly chat.

"I like your friend Mr. Lucas," Mavis said. "You looked as if you'd missed him a lot."

Wil gave a nostalgic smile. "Mr. Lucas was always good fun," he recalled. "My word, the things we used to get up to together at Grace Brothers! All that mischief, all those pranks we pulled, the music, the dancing, covering for each other when we were late, not to mention the odd little things we used to sneak into the store under Captain Peacock's nose—oh, I could write a book!" he tittered.

Mavis' hand crept up to hold onto the lapel of his pyjama top. With downcast eyes, she asked shyly, "Is it true you're... well, the others have hinted that you're a bit... well, you know... the other way?"

Wil took a deep breath. "Mavis dear, I'm over 50, and I've always been, shall we say, _adventurous_ , in my personal life—whenever I could get away from me mother, that is. The truth is, if there's more than one way to be, I've probably been all of them at one time or another. I have what I guess you could call an _unorthodox_ past."

"Were you ever... another way... with Mr. Lucas?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

Wil blinked once or twice until he caught her meaning, and then let out a startled laugh. "Oh, God, no! Oh, no, dear. Perish the thought!"

"Oh," Mavis sighed in relief. "Good."

Good Lord, could she possibly be jealous? Of him and Mr. Lucas? He giggled at the very idea, but hastened to clarify. "No, of course not. Mr. Lucas was my coworker and my closest friend for several years, but that is the entire limit, depth, and scope of our relationship. I promise you."

Mavis said, "I'm glad to hear it."

"There is one thing, though," Wil said slowly, figuring now was probably going to be the best time to bring up his concern.

"Yeah?"

"Remember when I was trying on Luigi's jacket, and you told me to watch my step with the girls, or I'd make you jealous?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

He met her gaze evenly. "You watch _your_ step with Mr. Lucas."

It took her a moment to catch on, and then she giggled. "Don't be so silly," she admonished playfully. "And don't you be jealous, neither. You know I only 'ave eyes for you!" She pressed an affectionate kiss right onto his lips before he even knew it.

He sputtered in surprise.

"What's the matter?"

"You-you-you can't do that!" he scolded.

"'Twasn't nice?" she pouted.

He licked his lips and reflected on it for an instant. Her lips were soft, her kiss gentle and affectionate, her breath fresh. "Actually it was. I just wasn't ready for it," he explained.

She got a mischievous smile on her face. "Well, you'd better get ready now, 'cause I'm about to do it again!"

This time her lips lingered long enough for Wil to get over his initial shock and start to kiss her back. It was so nice that he kissed her again, and then again, several more times: soft little close-mouthed kisses. They were the nicest kisses he'd had in years, made all the more so by the fact she was letting him wend his way through this aberrant situation at his own pace. Any minute he expected her to push for more, but he was nowhere _near_ ready for more! He was all through with being pushed into things, too. If Mavis pushed him too far, he'd be out of bed and gone before she took her next breath—but for right now she seemed content with just kissing. He was fine with that!

There was no pushing for more; the kisses gradually tapered off, and he buried his face in her hair and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wil?" she murmured, her voice muffled in his neck.

"Hmm?"

"You know how you said you used to be, you know, lots of other ways?"

"Yes," he replied, a little nervous.

"What—what way are you now?"

"I haven't been any way at all for a _very_ long time," he answered honestly. "This—this whatever you and I have together—this is unusual for me. I've never been _this_ way before."

"With girls, you mean?"

Oh, how he admired her artless candor! He took a deep breath to calm his nervous stomach, and tried to match it. "Girls, yes. Occasionally. How I'm starting to feel towards you? That's all new. In fact, I'd been finished with all those other ways for _years_ before I came here. I came here to the country because I was tired of all the histrionics and hubbub of the city, and I decided I was ready for a quiet life. I was old enough to retire, and I thought I'd just sort of, you know, fade out gracefully. Then I came here and started to eat better, started to sleep better—" he nodded a quick _thank you_ to her. "—Started to do all this physical work, and suddenly I don't feel like fading out at all!" He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "Honestly, I had no idea I could feel this young again!"

"Do you like it here?"

He smiled into her hair. "Do you know, I really do. Tell the truth, I haven't been this happy in years."

She gave his neck a light kiss, and he gasped. She'd happened upon a sensitive spot! Goosebumps rose all down that side of his body.

"I'm glad," she told him sincerely. "I know I'm a lot happier since you came 'ere, Wil Humphries."

"That makes two of us," he said, flustered at the lingering effects of her kiss on his neck. She did it again and noticed his frisson of pleasure. She innocently mistook it for a shiver, and carefully tucked the blankets around him. "Good night, Wil," she said happily, and fell instantly to sleep in his arms.

Still discomposed (and a little aroused), Wil took a deep breath. He gave her sleeping form a rueful smile. "Sweet dreams, dear." In an undertone, he added, "I know that's the kind I'll be having."


	9. Plans of Action

The next morning, Miss Brahms and Mrs. Slocombe did the milking and egg-collecting, while Wil fed all the animals. When they got back to the kitchen, Lucas and Peacock were starting the tea and toasting the bread.

Rumbold joined them halfway through breakfast. "Good morning, everyone. I'm sorry, I'm afraid I had a bit of a lie-in. Did I sleep through breakfast?"

"That's all right, there is plenty," Peacock told him, passing the porridge and honey.

"I think when we've finished eating, we ought to have a meeting to discuss what to do about this farm situation," Rumbold said. "And Mr. Lucas, if you don't mind, perhaps you could join us? It's probably best if you know the true situation about the home farm before you make your decision whether to invest or not. We shall give you full disclosure."

"Of course, Mr. Rumbold."

Mavis came down just as they were finishing up breakfast. "Good mornin'!" she chirped. She moved gingerly, but seemed in excellent spirits.

"How are you feeling today, my dear?" Rumbold asked her.

"Oh, much better," she assured him. "I made up some of my old gran's liniment late last night, and Mr. 'Umphries helped me put it on."

"Did he, now?" Mrs. Slocombe smirked at Wil.

Bland-faced, he replied, "Only on the hard to reach spots."

Lucas choked on his tea, and Wil took a sip of his own, to hide his smile. Yes, he still had it. He could still break up Mr. Lucas with one well-timed innuendo. Life was good.

"He was lovely," Mavis went on. "Such a gentle touch 'e's got!"

Lucas raised his eyebrows at Wil, eyes dancing.

"Well, I ought to have, after taking that massage class in night school with the Japanese instructor for six months. It made me very popular," Wil paused a beat, for effect, and then went on. "Mind you, I decided to give it up after me mother became my most faithful client."

Lucas nodded rapidly, the way he'd used to do. "Yes, Mr. Humphries, yes, I can understand that. I can see you now, in your massage studio, with its synthesizer music, soft lights, and the ubiquitous tabletop waterfall in the corner. Your mother comes to the door in her white terry bathrobe, and you invite her in. 'Come right in, Mother,' you'd say. 'Come in and make yourself comfortable while you strip down and hop up!'"

Miss Brahms giggled, while Wil gave Lucas an affronted look. "I shan't share my reminiscences with you if you're going to be like that!"

"Aw, Mr. Lucas, you mustn't tease poor Mr. 'Umphries," Mavis scolded. "His mother and 'im are very close. He's a very dutiful son!"

"Closer than most, if he used to massage her," Lucas replied, dissolving into laughter. "After all, there's duty, and then there's _duty!"_

Wil rolled his eyes with an affected sigh, until Lucas' contagious snickers got to him. He smiled. "Under the circumstances, which were _alarmingly_ similar to what Mr. Lucas described, I cultivated a rapid case of tendinitis and gave up massage completely."

Lucas shook his head, still grinning. "Oh, God, I've missed you, Mr. Humphries," he told Wil. He looked around the table. "I've missed you all!"

Mavis came toward the table with her bowl of porridge, and Wil leaped to his feet to pull out her chair for her. "Over here, Mavis dear, you come sit right beside me," he invited. "You'll make it easier for me to ignore Mr. Lucas when he gets cheeky."

"Oi!" Lucas protested, but he subsided when he saw the tender solicitousness with which Wil was helping her ease gently into her chair. He looked around, but no one else seemed astonished.

"Thank you, Mr. 'Umphries," Mavis said, giving Wil's hand a squeeze.

Lucas was uncharacteristically quiet during the meeting, taking everything in, but volunteering nothing. The meeting ranged from running the home farm, to dealing with Moulterd, the Heathcliffes (father and son), and Sir Robert who was sure to take Moulterd's side.

Finally, Lucas spoke. "I think what we might need is a spy in the camp," he suggested. "They seem to like Jessica Lovelock, from what you've said."

"Yes, but she ain't exactly on our side," Miss Brahms pointed out.

Lucas shrugged. "Yes, but _I_ am, and she might be able to get me in with that crowd. No one else here has seen me with you lot, so I'll just be Jessica's investor friend. If asked, I'll disparage you all severely — if not sincerely."

"Oh, that's a tough job," Miss Brahms snarked. "Spending all your spare time with a fit bird like her, what can't keep her hands off you!"

Lucas snorted. "Would you believe me if I said I'd rather spend my time up here with you?" He asked, and hastily corrected, "With you lot?"

"No," they all said in a chorus.

Lucas sighed in self-pity. "You spend a few short years in youthful hijinks with your coworkers, and do they _ever_ let you forget it? They do not! I _have_ grown up, you know!"

"I shall believe that when I see it," Mrs. Slocombe said with sonorous dignity. She heaved herself up onto her feet. "Well, if I am to run the farm until we get someone, I'll change and go see what needs to be done."

"I'll go with you," Captain Peacock offered. "If you don't mind, that is."

"Not at all. I should enjoy the company." The two of them departed up the stairs together.

"What shall I do, then?" Mavis asked.

"Miss Brahms and I should probably start planning dinner," Wil answered. "Assuming that's acceptable to Miss Brahms?"

She waved away his query. "I still can't cook, Mr. Humphries, but I make a good sow-chef."

"Sow—? Oh, you mean a _sous_ chef!" He said. "Perfect! You shall do the _sous_ -ing, I shall do the chef-ing, and Mavis ought to go upstairs and do the lying down and resting."

"But Mr. Humphries, I'm not tired! And I'm not that sore, neither."

"That's because just had enough painkiller to fell an ox," Wil told her. "I slipped it into your tea. Now, you're going to go toes-up in a minute, so I strongly suggest you're in bed before you do!"

Mavis sighed and turned to go up the stairs but she swayed a little on her feet. Wil was there in an instant to steady her."Here, put your arm 'round me shoulder," he directed, "and I'll help you up the stairs."

"Now, Mr. Humphries, you make sure you tuck her in all comfy," Miss Brahms called to him as they started up the stairs.

"Is he really going to put her to bed?" Lucas asked, amazed.

Miss Brahms nodded. "They've been sleeping together ever since our first night here," she confided in a low voice.

"Good Lord, really?" Lucas's jaw dropped, and his eyes widened.

She nodded. "He says there's nothing in it, that they are just pals, and that nothing goes on in that bed except sleeping… But I 'ave my doubts."

Lucas whistled. "If he sleeps with that gorgeous bird every night and nothing goes on except sleeping, then maybe not as much has changed as I thought."

Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock had descended, dressed in their farm clothes, just in time to catch Lucas' comment.

"Oh, I wouldn't bet on that," Mrs. Slocombe said. "I think they're in love! It's so sweet and romantic, the way they are with each other!"

"Yes, I've noticed that," Lucas admitted. "It's just that—our Mr. Humphries! In love! With a _girl!_ There are more things in heaven and earth..!"

"Be that as it may," Peacock put in. "I think we should let our friend and colleague tend to his own business—whatever that may be," he added. "The rest of us have work to do."

"Quite right, Captain Peacock," Rumbold agreed. "Well, let's get to it. Peacock, Mrs. Slocombe, you two will see to the farm. Miss Brahms, you and I shall start the cooking until Mr. Humphries comes back down, and Mr. Lucas, you may find Miss Lovelock over the stable."

Lucas grimaced, but got to his feet. "We who are about to die, salute you!" he said with a formal British salute, as he clicked his heels and went out the door.

"Is it just me, or is Mr. Lucas not actin' like 'imself? Why, he doesn't seem eager at all to spend time with that tart!"

"It does seem out of character for the Mr. Lucas we knew fifteen or twenty years ago, but people do change, Miss Brahms." Rumbold said. "After all, just look at Mr. Humphries!"

"Blimey!" Miss Brahms exclaimed. "D'you think they've switched?!"


	10. Agent Double-O-Lucas

Lucas went out to the stable and called up the stairs to the apartment entrance on the side. "Jessica!" he called up the stairs. "Oi, Jess, you up there?"

"Oh, so you've finally decided to see me, then?" she asked, all huffy as she came down the stairs.

Lucas gave her his famous smile and charm. "Come now, Jess, you know I had to pay my dues with that lot first! If I do invest, I don't want to start out on their bad side. I've worked with them, don't forget. I know exactly what they're like!"

Miss Lovelock's glare softened, and Lucas stepped in for the kill. "Anyway, now that I've had my time with them, they shouldn't be interrupting us any time soon." He winked at her.

The last vestige of her iciness melted, and she took his arm and smiled up at him. "Oh, all right. As long as I get you all to myself now!"

"Oh, I'm all yours!" he assured her, patting her hand. "Now, didn't you say something about going for a ride? And I'm also going to want a tour of the village. When d'you want to do that?"

"Why don't we do both at once?" Miss Lovelock suggested.

Lucas had been hoping for that response, and he grinned. "Excellent idea! Now, how about introducing me to these horses, eh?"

Millstone Manor boasted five horses: one stallion, Jasper; two mares, Lilah and Rose of Sharon—"But we just call her Shazzer," Jessica said—a rangy gelding, Dover, and the little bay pony, Dick, that pulled the trap. Lucas immediately claimed the spirited Rose of Sharon for himself, and set about befriending her while he groomed her and tacked her up.

Miss Lovelock chose the gelding, saying he needed a good, long run. A little later, they were both cantering over the countryside. Lucas hadn't ridden in months, and he reveled in the freedom of it, and in the spirit and action of his mount. The presence of Jessica Lovelock was an irritant, but not even she could spoil the beauty of this ride!

They flew over hedges and gates on their ride into the village, and by the time they arrived in the village proper the horses were ready for a rest. They walked their mounts through the town to cool them off, while Miss Lovelock pointed out where things were and introduced Lucas to everyone she knew.

As they clopped past the courthouse, they happened upon Sir Robert and Celia Littlewood just coming out. "Jessica!" Sir Robert called when he saw them. "How are you, my dear? Who's that you've got with you?"

Miss Lovelock introduced them both, and invited them to join them at the pub for lunch. Sir Robert and Miss Littlewood both agreed cheerfully, and they made their way to the pub. Miss Littlewood, when she learned where Lucas was staying, asked eagerly after Miss Brahms. Lucas hid his amused surprise, and answered all her questions with replies that subtly disparaged the new owners.

"But you said you worked with them all at Grace Brothers?" Miss Lovelock asked. "I'd have thought you got on with them better?"

Lucas scoffed. "None of 'em ever liked me. I worked for them for years, hoping for advancement, and then I had a bad week and got the sack! No, they're all right in their way, but a bit too hidebound and proper for my tastes!" He winked at Jessica.

"Oh, I don't know. There's something to be said for tradition," Sir Robert mused.

Their meat pies arrived, piping hot, and unfortunately accompanied by Maurice Moulterd. He invited himself to join them, with the somewhat disgusting greeting of, "Pardon me fer droppin' in while you got yer snouts in the trough," as he plopped his ungainly bulk into the chair at the end.

Looking at this huge, lumbering, stinking ox of a man, Lucas was amazed that someone like that had fathered a girl as dainty and pretty as Mavis.

Moulterd dominated the conversation, griping about "that lot up at the manor" having kidnapped his daughter and thrown him out of his home, and similar complaints.

They were joined by the Heathcliffes, father and son, who likewise pulled up chairs and joined them uninvited. Malcolm flirted a little with Miss Lovelock, but she clung to Lucas' arm and rolled her eyes.

Lucas, for his part, was pleased to find that Sir Robert and Celia Littlewood both seemed to be decent sorts of people. At one point, when Moulterd and the Heathcliffes got up for a game of darts, Sir Robert and Miss Littlewood both shook their heads.

"I'm glad that lot at the Manor finally wised up and gave Moulterd the boot," Miss Littlewood stated.

"Oh, now, he's not so bad, Celia," Sir Robert said. "I think those folks at the Manor ought to keep their noses out of other people's business!"

"Oh, are they nosy here, too?" Lucas asked, with a roll of his eyes.

"First thing that bald fellow did when he got here was to sack everyone in the place!"

"Not exactly," Miss Lovelock said. "It was more like they all walked out when Mr. Rumbold told them that actually have to work for their pay! I was there, you see."

"Oh, really?" Miss Littlewood asked.

"Oh, absolutely, darling. I'm no fan of Rumbold as you know, but he shouldn't be maligned for what he _didn't_ do!"

"That's true enough, I suppose," Sir Robert allowed. He asked Miss Lovelock, "I don't suppose you were there when Moulterd got sacked?"

"Why, what did you hear?" Miss Lovelock asked.

Sir Robert answered, "He called the constable asking him to go up and arrest the whole lot of them for kidnapping! He said they had kidnapped his daughter and were holding her prisoner, not letting her go outside, and that they had sacked _him_ and evicted him from his cottage, and forbade him to come onto the property! Constable brought it to me in an unofficial capacity, and I told him I would find out what I could. What do _you_ know?"

"Not a thing, darling. I wasn't there for that. I was busy getting ready for R.J.'s visit and missed the whole thing."

"Oh, well, I saw it." Lucas casually got out a cigarette. "Anyone mind if I —? No? Anyone else?" He asked, offering around the pack. Miss Littlewood took one and allowed him to light it for her. Lucas continued, "It happened just as I arrived at the Manor."

Miss Littlewood was apparently not immune to village gossip. "Oh! What did you see?"

Lucas took a long drag on his ciggy and blew the smoke over his shoulder. "Not sure as I want to get involved," he mused. "I'm still getting the lay of the land, as it were."

"Yes, we can see that," Sir Robert said with a quick glance at Miss Lovelock. Lucas hid his smile.

Miss Littlewood pressed, "But surely it can't hurt to simply share what you saw?"

Lucas shrugged. "Moulterd was griping about them interfering with the way he raised his daughter, and then Miss Brahms said something about his having beaten his daughter bloody. She said they were sacking him for injuring another one of their employees. She got right in his face and told him not to come back."

"Oh, how brave!" trilled Miss Littlewood. "That Miss Brahms is really quite something, isn't she?"

"Always has been," Lucas agreed. Miss Lovelock gave him a sharp look, and he brought her hand to his lips. "Don't worry, she's nothing like you, my dear Jessica." She subsided with a flirty smile.

Miss Littlewood and Sir Robert exchanged glances. "Do you think he really did… _beat_ the girl?" Miss Littlewood asked. "Miss Lovelock, what do you think?"

Miss Lovelock shrugged. "It's none of _my_ business, darling."

"You are a co-trustee of the Manor, Jessica, and they're both your employees. Technically it _is_ your business," Lucas reminded her.

She pouted. "Oh, R.J., don't be like that! Anyway, it's handled. He's gone, isn't he? And she isn't badly injured, is she? So let's just leave it. Let me buy you another drink, darling!"

"Oh, all right," Lucas smiled. As soon as Jessica had gone to get it, he leaned forward and told the other two, "He did hurt her badly. I had to drive her down to the doctor in Dorset. She could hardly walk or move, and once her top rode up a bit and I saw the bloody welts that he'd left on her back. But listen, don't tell anyone what I said. I don't want to be involved — I just thought you two at least should know the truth. I'm no fan of Rumbold either, but from what little I saw of the situation, I think they may have been right to do what they did."

"Thank you, Mr. Lucas. That helps us immeasurably," Sir Robert told him.

"Yes, indeed," Miss Littlewood put in. "That poor girl!"

Miss Lovelock returned with the drinks, and Lucas rose to seat her. "With that out of the way, I much prefer to concentrate on pleasanter things!"

"I quite agree!" She took her seat next to him and took a long drink of her beer. Moulterd and the Healthcliffs returned, and Moulterd lumbered up to the bar to get them some drinks.

"He lost," Harry told them all, _sotto voce._ "He buys the drinks."

Moulterd brought back the drinks and collapsed into a chair. "'Ere, you been up t'the Manor, Mr. Lucas?" he asked.

"I have."

"Y'seen my daugh'er?"

"We've met."

"What she doin' since I left?" Moulterd demanded.

Lucas gave a negligent shrug. "Damned if I know. She spends a lot of time with that little fellow with the high voice."

"Humphries," Harry informed him.

Malcolm bristled. "That weedy little git better stay away from her, or I'll – "

"You'll what?" Sir Robert demanded, straightening up with a keen look in his grey eyes. "Were you about to threaten the man in front of _me_?"

"No, sir," Malcolm backed down fast. "I was just going to say I'll, er, I'll wish them well! Wasn't I, Dad?"

"Av course you were, my love," Harry replied with a wink at Sir Robert.

"Glad to hear it," Lucas put in. "If I'm to invest in the place, I don't want any bickering between the Manor and the village!"

"Quite right, too," Sir Robert agreed.

"They've still got hold o' my daugh'er!" Moulterd exclaimed in his ponderous way.

Miss Lovelock rolled her eyes., "Oh, for heaven's sake, Moulterd, the girl's older than I am. She can leave if she wants! If she's still there, it's because she wants to stay."

"But 'oo's goin' to take care o' me in me dotage?" Moulterd complained.

"Most likely someone you _haven't_ strapped silly her whole life long," Miss Lovelock replied carelessly. Rising, she gave Lucas her hand. "Come along, R.J. We should be getting back. It'll take longer to get home than it did to come here, you know."

"I know, I know, Jess—walk the last mile home," Lucas said. Rising also, he nodded to Sir Robert and Miss Littlewood. "Truly a pleasure to meet you both." He turned to Moulterd and the Heathcliffes. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around."

"Av course, luv, av course," Henry replied affably.

"'Ere, Mr. Lucas—want to do us a favor?" Malcolm asked eagerly. "As you're already staying at the Manor anyway? Could you keep an eye on Mavis and tell me what's going on?"

Lucas hid his grin. Double agent already! "What's in it for me?" he asked.

"What do you want?"

Lucas jerked his head at Moulterd. "With him sacked, they need a new farm worker, and I'll not be investing a single penny until they get the place up and running full-throttle again. You find me a new farmer that Sir Robert and Miss Littlewood here will vouch for—considering what I already told them—" He gave them both a meaningful look, and they both nodded understanding. "—And I'll do a bit of spying for you. That do you?"

"Oh, yeah!" Malcolm jumped at the offer. "I know everyone round 'ere! I'll speak to Sir Robert about some of the more likely lads, an' send them up over the next few days!"

"Done." Lucas spat on his palm and shook Malcolm's hand. As he and Miss Lovelock turned to leave, he heard Harry say, "This one's a sight better than the rest of the stuffed-shirt city-folk up there, i'n't he?"

"Yah, I think 'e is," Moulterd agreed.

"Are you really going to spy on us?" Miss Lovelock asked lightly as they began walking their mounts back toward the Manor.

"Oh, a little, I guess," Lucas told her. "Nothing damaging to either side. Just something to break the monotony until I return to Scotland."

"Oh, must you?" Miss Lovelock pouted.

"I'm afraid I must. I've left something quite dear to me there, and I couldn't feel settled here without fetching it first."

"Just make it a fast trip!" Miss Lovelock ordered.

Secrets upon secrets, Lucas mused as his horse clopped along. Pretty soon he was going to have to tell the others about his past.


	11. Lucas's Story

That night after dinner, Lucas called everyone for a meeting. Everyone, that is, except Jessica Lovelock, whom Lucas didn't entirely trust. He related his conversation with Sir Robert and Miss Littlewood, the Heathcliffes, and even Moulterd. Grinning, he even told them about his deal with Malcolm.

"Oh, so you're a double agent now, Mr. Lucas," Mrs. Slocombe teased. "Isn't it exciting! You're just like James Bond!"

"I'm afraid you'll have to settle for 'Lucas, James Lucas,' Mrs. Slocombe," he replied gallantly. "Especially as I haven't worn black tie for nearly twenty years!"

"I thought your name was Dick," she twitted.

"Richard James Lucas," he explained, "I switched to R.J. right after American week. I haven't forgotten you lot, calling me 'Dick' all the time! Every opportunity! And pausing right before the name, to make sure I knew you weren't _just_ calling me by name. Are you free... _Dick?_ Can you take this measurement... _Dick?_ Oh, aren't you a clever... _Dick!_ After that, I decided, no more. So now it's R. James Lucas, or just R.J. for short."

"R. James," Miss Brahms said, trying it out. "We could call you R. James. Especially if you're going to be spyin' for both sides, it'll help you remember that you're _our_ James Lucas and not theirs!"

He chuckled at her pun, and then his face took on a faraway look. "My wife used to call me 'Jamie,'" he remembered.

"Your wife?" Miss Brahms exclaimed.

"You're married? You never said!" Wil accused.

Lucas shook his head. "Widowed. Four years now."

They murmured words of condolence, and Lucas decided now was the time to tell them. Time to tell them everything.

So he told them about leaving Grace Brothers, and he and his mother moving in with his uncle, because of his mother's failing health. Strangely, it was his uncle who'd passed away first, and—childless—had left all his estate to his nephew. With the money, Lucas had hired a young, Scottish nurse to look after his mother. Lucas had fallen head over heels for the nurse. A respectable time after his mother had passed, Lucas went to Scotland to track down, woo, and eventually marry the young nurse.

"Her name was Rose," he said. "Rose Rowe, and she hated it because she said it always sounded like someone starting to sing a round. She was glad enough to switch to Lucas when we got married, I can tell you!"

He explained that Rose had lived on a farm with her parents, but with both of them poorly, they couldn't look after the farm anymore. So after he and Rose married, he moved onto the farm and helped them—right up to the end, when they both passed away within weeks of each other. He and Rose had tried to keep the farm together as long as they could, but eventually they'd had to sell it and move to the city. Rose had got another nursing job at a hospital.

"Sadly, that was what ended up killin' her," he finished.

"What happened?" Wil asked quietly.

"Wrong place at the wrong time. She was hit and killed instantly—by an ambulance, ironically."

"Oh, how dreadful!" Mrs. Slocombe sympathized.

"That's 'orrible!" Miss Brahms chimed in, leaning over to place her hand on Lucas's.

He gave hers a squeeze, and sighed. "Thank you. I'm all right now, though. It's been four years, and I've got our little girl, still."

"You've got a daughter! I can't picture that, can you, Mrs. Slocombe?" Miss Brahms asked.

Mrs. Slocombe, somewhat overcome with emotion, wiped her eyes. "No, but I can't picture our Mr. Lucas settling down at all, much less learning all about farm work, either. You are a man of hidden depths, Mr. Lucas!"

"Well-hidden," Wil agreed. "Do you know, I never knew you had it in you!"

Lucas gave him a soft smile. "Love changes a man, Mr. Humphries. When it's real, that is."

"What was she like, your wife?" Miss Brahms wanted to know.

Lucas grinned at the memory. "Tiny and feisty, with fiery ginger hair and a temper to match. She had the hottest temper but the warmest heart of anyone I've ever met. She taught me everything she knew about farm work. She could master anything she tried, and she was that curious by nature that she wanted to try everything!"

Mrs. Slocombe sniffled. "Oh, isn't it romantic?"

"It sounds as if you miss her a great deal," Peacock ventured, with some feeling.

Lucas nodded. "I do, yes, of course I do. But my daughter helps a great deal. Looks just like her, you see."

"'Ow old is she?" Miss Brahms wanted to know.

"Lexie's almost nine," Lucas said proudly. "I've arranged to go get her in another week or so, and bring her here."

"Oh, how lovely, to have a child about the place!" Mrs. Slocombe gushed, clasping her hands together. "Lexie? Is that her name?"

He nodded. "Alexandra Rose. She'll liven the place up a bit, you'll see."

Mavis, who had said nothing the entire time, sniffled loudly and drew everyone's attention to her.

"Are you all right, dear?" Wil asked, pressing his handkerchief into her hand.

She wiped her streaming eyes and nodded, and then sent a watery smile over to Mr. Lucas as well. "It's such a beautiful story, Mr. Lucas, and I'm truly sorry for your loss, but I'm very glad you've finally come 'ome to your family!" she cried. "An' your little girl will be very welcome too!"

Lucas was touched. He swallowed a couple of times. "Th-thank you, Mavis," he said, his voice husky. He hadn't had a real family in years!


	12. Spy Missions: Successful

Over the next few days, Lucas spent more time in the village with Jessica Lovelock, having drinks and playing darts at the pub, and getting to know the locals. Most of them he found to be decent, salt-of-the-earth, farmer types like he'd known in Scotland. Some set his teeth on edge, and he had to force himself to be polite: Maurice Moulterd and Malcolm Heathcliffe, to name two.

Rather to his chagrin, he found himself getting along well with Henry Heathcliffe. He didn't _want_ to like the man, because he disliked his son so thoroughly, but Henry reminded him of his late father-in-law. They had the same rough, jocular manners, the same coarse sense of humor with a hint of threat behind it. It had taken Lucas some years to learn how to interact with his father-in-law: whatever he gave you, you had to hand right back to him, with interest. If he insulted you, you'd have to insult him back, instantly, even ruder and with more wit, and then he'd laugh and clap you (hard) on the back with a "Good one, laddie!" If you didn't return his insult, then he didn't consider you worth the mud on his boots.

Henry was the same way. When he'd heard Lucas say he'd been born and grown up in London, he had called him a "Black-lunged, gormless grockle."

When Lucas had finished laughing, he'd fired back, "Nice words, coming from a soap-dodging sheep-shagger! I'd knock your teeth in for you if I wouldn't need to get a shot after!"

Henry had blinked a few times, burst into laughter, and bought him a drink.

Lucas always had fresh gossip to tell young Malcolm, usually about Mavis and Mr. Humphries. Malcolm would grit his teeth as he listened, and then go outside and break something. After the first couple of times, Henry caught on to what he was doing, and sat back and watched as his son went off the rails.

"R.J., why d'you wind him up like that?" Henry asked. "Lad's got a fearsome temper. You tryin' to get your friend up there killed, or what?"

"Nah," Lucas replied. "I'm doing him a favor, Henry. If he doesn't learn to control his temper, he's liable to blow up at the wrong person and get himself killed! I'm just trying to teach him some self-control. Also, I'm not impressed with how he speaks of a lady."

"Lady?" Henry snickered. "Mavis Moulterd? She ain't no lady. She's a slag!"

"Careful, Henry," Lucas warned. He didn't want to blow his cover as a pseudo-townie, but it also didn't fit with the persona he'd cultivated, to let a slur like that pass. In this case, it didn't fit with his own personal ethics either. "Young Mavis' conduct has been nothing irreproachable since I've met her."

"Yeah, but don't she sleep with that fairy-cake Humphries?" Henry asked.

Lucas winced inwardly at the slur, but outwardly he shrugged. "If _he's_ a fairy-cake, then she can't be a slag, can she? And if he isn't—which would surprise me very much—she's keepin' to just him, and she's very loyal. So she's _still_ not a slag. You keep your speech civil when you speak of her, Henry, or I'll regretfully have to knock your teeth in. And then I'll need a shot," Lucas made the matter-of-fact threat with a big smile that showed all his teeth.

Henry backed down. "Don't blame me, it's just what the folk in the village say," he defended himself.

"Mind you correct them when you hear it, then," Lucas warned. "And see if you can call your boy off her, while you're at it. She deserves better than him. I've seen the way he pushes her around." Malcolm had made a trip up to the Manor with an applicant for the farm position, and had tried to bully Mavis while he was there. The other lad had just laughed and done nothing, so Lucas told them both to push off without even bothering to interview the other boy.

"She deserves better, like the fairy-cake, is that it?" Henry taunted. "Or better, like yourself?"

Lucas rolled his eyes. "I've got all I can handle and then some, with Jessica Lovelock," he said. "I was talking of Humphries, if she likes him. Even if he is a fairy-cake, he'd still be better for her than your son. You'd better call your son off her before Humphries kills him!"

Henry guffawed. "That ponce! Kill my son! I'd like to see 'im try!"

Lucas smiled and said nothing. He'd seen how protective Mr. Humphries was of Mavis. Only that morning, when Rumbold piled too much work on the girl, Mr. Humphries had intervened and split up the remaining tasks between himself and Rumbold. He had been very assertive, and Rumbold had been quite cowed and agreeable. Mavis was definitely bringing out Mr. Humphries' protective instincts!


	13. New Help

Those protective instincts were put to the test the next day, when Malcolm brought up the first applicant for farm worker. They came to the kitchen, where Mavis doing the washing-up after breakfast. "Ey up!" Malcolm greeted. "Nice to see a woman in 'er place for a change!"

"You watch your mouth, Malcolm! What you doin' 'ere, anyway?" Mavis demanded.

Malcolm gestured toward his companion. "Brought up a new applicant for the farm worker position. Where's Mr. Lucas? We 'ad an arrangement."

Mavis dried her hands. "You wait there, and I'll go an' get 'im."

She'd only got halfway across the room, when Lucas and Wil entered the kitchen together, arguing loudly and bitterly. Wil was limping, covered with dirt, and rubbing his backside.

" _You_ told me she was docile!" Wil shrieked.

"And _you_ told _me_ you knew how to ride!" Lucas yelled back. "I can't be held responsible for your injuries when you lie to me like that! Never have I seen anyone ride so badly! Shocking, it was, Mr. Humphries. Absolutely shocking!"

"I _do_ know how to ride!" Wil shouted. "I just didn't know you meant horses!"

"Well, what did you _think_ I meant, buses?" Lucas barked.

"'Ere! You both stop shoutin' right this minute!" Mavis shouted furiously. "You two are friends, and I'll not 'ave you actin' like this! I'll not 'ave it, do you hear? Now you both apologize to each other an' shake 'ands! Right now!"

Shamefaced, Wil and Lucas muttered apologies to each other, and clasped hands. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Lucas started to smile. Wil tried not to, he really did, but the corners of his mouth began to turn up, and his smile spread across his face as Lucas started to giggle. Wil chuckled, and gave Lucas' shoulder a shove.

"Don't laugh so hard next time I fall off, all right?" Wil said, still chuckling.

"Don't fall into the vegetable garden next time—or better yet at all—and we won't have to worry about it, will we?" Lucas said, grinning.

"Well, if you're both all better now, there's someone to see you," Mavis informed them.

Lucas looked up and noticed Malcolm at the door for the first time. He exchanged glances with Wil, whose eyes widened in alarm.

Malcolm was scowling at him. "You better watch your mouth around Mr. Lucas," he warned Wil. "E's a decent sort, 'e is, and too good for you lot up 'ere anyway! Mr. Lucas is one of us, 'e is!" and he took one threatening step closer to Wil.

Mavis stepped in between them. "You stay away from Mr. Humphries!"

He sneered at her, and said in a low voice, "Shut up, you mingin' slapper! I don't take orders from you! Slag like you's probably servin' _all_ the men up here, now that yer dad's not 'ere to strap you good an' proper!"

Mavis gasped.

Lucas stepped forward. "Here, here, let's try and be civil, young Heathcliffe. Now then, what have you got for me?"

Malcolm nodded respectfully. "I've brought you another possible farm worker, sir. This 'ere's one of t'lads from the village, Jory Griffin. 'E knows everything there's to know about farm work."

Jory was standing there looking shocked at what Malcolm had said. His gaze darted to Mavis and he gave her an apologetic look before turning his attention to Lucas.

"Griffin, is it?" Lucas shook his hand. "All right, Malcolm, thank you. We'll take it from here. Mr. Humphries, would you mind taking young Griffin into the sitting room and calling the others for an interview? I'll just stop and have a word with Malcolm here."

"Of course, Mr. Lucas," Wil replied. "Come with me, Mr. Griffin, and we shall convene the meeting."

Lucas beckoned to Malcolm, and the two of them stepped outside the door together. "Listen, I can't have you coming up here and messing things up for me," Lucas scolded. "You probably saw us laughing a minute ago—as you could see, I've got Humphries in my pocket already, and the others are coming along nicely. You don't have to defend me against the likes of him! And talking to the Moulterd girl like you did?" He tsked. "It just isn't done, Malcolm. You've put me in an awkward position by coming up here and insulting her and threatening him like you did. How am I to salvage the situation now? They're going to start thinking I'm on your side and not theirs!"

"Oh!" Malcolm flushed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Lucas. I guess I just wasn't thinking. When I think of that little nancy boy with his hands all over Mavis, I just see red!"

"Well, stop thinking about it, then," Lucas advised. "And from now on, you're to show nothing but respect to anyone here. Even Mavis. Otherwise I'll be in a very untenable position, and I'll know who to blame for it!"

"Right, right," Malcolm nodded rapidly. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

"I certainly hope not!" Lucas told him sternly. "I'd hate to tell your father why I had to give you a solid thrashing! Off you go, now, and after we interview young Jory, I'll let you know if you need to keep looking or not."

Malcolm skedaddled, and Lucas re-entered the kitchen. He stopped and spoke to Mavis in a low voice. "You oughtn't to have any more trouble with that little git, Mavis. If he mouths off to you again, let me know, all right?"

She sniffed and nodded, sneaking up a hand to wipe her eyes. "I'll be all right, Mr. Lucas. I'll try an' pay 'im no mind."

"Just the same, you tell me or Mr. Humphries if it happens again."

The interview went well. Jory was young and broad-shouldered, better educated than many in the village, and most importantly, proved satisfactory to Mrs. Slocombe's discerning eye for farming. It was obvious that farming was in his blood, but more importantly, he loved it.

"I hope I get the job," he said eagerly. "This place is so beautiful! It just needs someone workin' it who knows what he's doing! I'm sure Mr. Moulterd did the best he knew how, but there've been a lot of advances in agriculture that would make it much easier to manage this place."

The others looked at each other, impressed.

Mr. Lucas asked, "Do you know Sir Robert, the magistrate?"

"Oh, yes," Jory said. "I hunt with him. He wants to buy my hound, actually."

"Well, we're just going to check your references, including his, and then we'll let you know," Peacock told the young man, standing and offering his hand.

"That's fine, sir. Thank you. It's nice to meet you all."

"I'll just see you to the door," Wil offered.

"I'll just help you with that," Lucas followed him.

They accompanied him to the door, and Lucas asked, "How well do you know Malcolm Heathcliffe, Jory?"

Jory shrugged. "Not that well, actually, sir. We've played him at cricket in school, but that's all." He flushed a little. "I, er, I just want to say that I didn't much like what he said to that girl in the kitchen."

"Good," Lucas told him shortly. "That's a mark in your favor, because neither did we."

Wil shook his head. "No, not at all. Well, thank you for coming, and we'll let you know by Sunday if you've got the job."

Jory departed with thanks, and Wil asked Lucas, "What _did_ he say to the girl in the kitchen?"

Lucas just shook his head with a scowl, and they both went back inside. Wil glanced around the kitchen. "Where's Mavis?" he asked. The dishes weren't all finished, but Mavis was nowhere to be found.

"He had some pretty rough words for her. Maybe she had to take a few minutes. "

"I saw him talking to her, but couldn't hear what he was saying."

"Let's just say he wasn't speaking to a lady as a gentleman should. Perhaps you should check outside?"

"Oh, good idea. I'll do that."

Wil found her in the stable, crying into the neck of the gray mare he had tried to ride earlier.

He came up behind her and put his arms around her from behind. "Is it Malcolm?" he asked.

She nodded, sniffling.

"What did he say to you? Did he touch you?"

She shook her head. "No, 'e just called me a slag, and said I was 'servicin' all the men up 'ere, now that Dad's not 'ere to keep me in line with a good strappin'."

Wil sucked in his breath through his teeth as a wave of anger washed over him. "Oh, that nasty git!" he exclaimed, his voice going high with fury.

He took a deep breath to calm down; Mavis was still trembling, and needed him.

"Never mind, dear," he said. "Malcolm's a jealous, hateful, spack head. You know that, don't you?"

She nodded.

"Now, don't you worry, love. Where's your hanky?" He took her handkerchief and mopped her face gently with it. "Now, then. You know you're not what he said, right?"

She nodded again.

"And you're among your friends here. We'll look after you, all right? And don't worry about Malcolm. Mr. Lucas and I will sort him out," he said grimly.

"Right. Thank you, Mr. 'Umphries."

He leaned forward and brushed his lips to her damp cheek. "It's Wil, dear, remember? Now then, enough tears. Don't waste 'em on a wanker like him."

She giggled a little, and Wil smiled. "That's better! Now, let's go see what the others are up to, hmm?"

Later, Wil took Lucas aside and told him what Malcolm had said to Mavis. "Mr. Lucas, the sooner you can end your association with that spotty little git, the better, I think. I don't want him coming round and upsetting her again!"

Lucas nodded. "He's getting worse, too, but I think I've put him in check for now."

Wil nodded. "I'm very glad to hear it! He's getting to be too much. I hope he doesn't come in while we're all down the pub Monday night!"


	14. Celebrate Celibate?

_[Author's note: yes, it's another very fluffy chapter, but one where our couple faces a couple of tough issues head-on. Please review at the end! Thanks!]_

* * *

The next day was Friday, and they had another small group of Americans scheduled to spend the weekend. Wil had learned of the sorts of biscuits Americans liked, and hadn't done any baking in a while, so he started gathering the ingredients to make "chocolate chip cookies," as they called them.

Mavis came in as he was measuring out the flour. "Oh, hello, Mr. 'Umphries! Anyone else around?" she glanced around the room.

"No, dear, just me."

"Well, then." She came closer and slipped her arm around his waist in a half-hug. "Hello, Wil. What're you making?"

He gave her a little squeeze and a smile, and answered, "The Americans like a special sort of biscuit with chocolate chips in them. I thought I'd make them a big batch of 'chocolate chip cookies' for a snack while they're here."

"Oh, that sounds interestin'! Can I help?"

Wil winked at her. "All right, but you've got to let me give you a little kiss first!"

Mavis caught on to the role-reversal play quickly, and scrunched her eyes shut. She held out her cheek to him. "All right, go on, then."

He leaned close, but at the last minute he touched her face with a floury hand and turned it toward him so his kiss landed on her lips. She returned it enthusiastically, and when he finished and broke away, she gave a little sigh.

"Is it all over with?" she asked him, trying not to smile.

"Yes," he said. "You can open your eyes now."

She beamed at him, a sparkle in her eyes. "That was quite nice, really!" she quoted him.

He smiled. "D'you want another one?"

And here she broke character, because she nodded eagerly and came closer. "Yes, please!"

They kissed again, for much longer, with their arms sliding up to hold each other close. One kiss turned into several, and it was quite some time before they separated. Then, exchanging wordless smiles, they turned to the task of making biscuits.

* * *

Hurrying back into the sitting room, Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock stared at each other. "Do you think they heard us at the door?" she asked, worried.

He shook his head. "I doubt they were paying attention to anything but each other!"

"Let's not tell Mr. Lucas about this," she spoke quietly. "I'd like to increase my odds of winning that bet!"

Peacock disagreed. "Stealing a kiss in the kitchen is one thing," he said. "That could be dismissed as simple experimentation, but proposing marriage is another thing entirely. You really expect an announcement?"

Mrs. Slocombe nodded, with a smug smile on her face. " _'I do,'_ " she punned. "An announcement before the year is out. Possibly even before Christmas!"

"We shall see," Peacock replied judiciously.

"We certainly shall!" she retorted. She gave him a sly look. "Of course, if you'd like to make a little wager—"

"No!" Captain Peacock yelped, holding up both hands in a warding-off gesture. "No gambling! I don't gamble any money on anything, ever, anymore!"

Mrs. Slocombe got a smug smile on her face and said no more.

* * *

The weekend was busy, but it was only a small group—two families on holiday. The children wanted to learn all about farm life, and the two pre-teen girls wanted to spend all their time around the horses, so it was a very easy weekend.

All the same, after they left on Sunday afternoon and all the cleaning and tidying was finished, everyone was glad to relax, have an early dinner, and go to bed.

That evening, Mavis was her usual affectionate self in bed, curling herself around him and resting her head on his shoulder. "Thanks for helping me t' other day with Malcolm, Wil," she said, sounding subdued. "Somethin' about you always makes me feel better."

"Well, I'm sure I don't know what it could be," he said. "Do you know, I don't know what you even see in me! I'm so much older than you are, and I've never been what most would call terribly masculine."

Mavis laughed. "Oh, I don't care 'bout that!" she said, nudging his shoulder. "Believe me, I've seen plenty of those so-called 'masculine' men close to my age, and they aren't what I like. Look at Malcolm!"

"Usually I'm afraid to!"

"No, really. Look at 'im. He's all bluster an' temper an' meanness an' control. 'E's not like you. I like you bein' older an' mature, an' I like how sweet an' nice you are to me. That's a lot more manly than always makin' threats an' thrashin' people!"

"I really don't deserve you, Mavis," Wil replied, shaking his head.

"Course you don't. You deserve far better than me! But you don't demand nothin', an' you don't try to control me, an' I just love you for that."

Remembering the awkward conversation he'd had with Miss Brahms back in the church when the Americans had been there, he cleared his throat and asked awkwardly, "So it doesn't bother you that I—well, that _we—_ well, what I'm trying to say is that all we've done together so far is a bit of kissing?" He fervently hoped that she wouldn't start "making demands on him," as Miss Brahms had put it. He might be acclimating to a little more affectionate touch, and starting to get used to feeling the way he did, but that didn't mean he was in any way ready to end his long period of celibacy.

Mavis laughed and corrected him. "We do lots more than that! We do chores together, an' cookin', an' sleepin', an' talkin'..."

Wil swallowed nervously. The innocent, she was going to make him spell it out! "True, but I was more referring to what goes on between us on a, er, a physical level. Or, more specifically, what doesn't."

"Oh, you mean sex?" Mavis asked baldly.

Wil flushed bright red. Perhaps not so innocent after all. "Well, yes," he replied, clearing his throat.

Mavis laughed again. "You think I'm upset because you an' I don't shag? Wil 'Umphries, you're a silly man!"

"Am I?" he squeaked.

"Yes! Honestly, the last thing I would ever want to do is shag you!"

"Is it?" he asked, his voice and eyebrows going even higher. "What's wrong with _me_?"

She sat up and faced him on the bed. "Now, you listen to me, Wil, and you listen 'ard. Are you listenin'?"

He nodded rapidly, eyes wide, unable to say a word.

"Now, you know I'm in love wi' you. I know you don't feel the same, or if you do, you're not ready to speak of it. An' I don't want to rush you, an' I don't want anythin' from you that you're not ready to give, or that you don't _really_ feel. There's no time limit. You've already made me 'appier than I ever been before. I love _all_ the things we do together. An' if we 'ad sex without us _both_ bein' in love wi' each other, then it wouldn't mean nothin'. I did tha' once, an' I didn't like it. It felt—"

"—Empty," Wil supplied, his voice quiet and his eyes shining with emotion. "I know. That's why I gave the whole thing up, ages ago."

"Yeah," she breathed, eyes locking with his in understanding.

"I've been celibate now for a very long time," he told her, as a sort of warning.

She smiled and bent down to kiss his temple. "Well, just so you know: I'll not push you or pressure you for anythin'. I think you been forced to do a lot of things in your life that you didn't want to, and you can rest easy that I'll never do that to you. I'm not bothered by 'celebracy.' I'd rather be 'celebrate' the rest of my life than make you do somethin' you didn't want to do. I'm not goin' to start anything physical with you, so you can relax."

Wil reached up and pulled her back down to lie next to him again. He smoothed his hand over her hair. "You have no idea what that means to me," he told her with a gentle smile. "Thank you, dear."

He'd had a whole life of being at other people's beck and call. He'd only rarely been the pursuer in a relationship, and he'd never initiated a physical relationship at all. He'd had plenty of others initiating one against him, and either making it very hard to say no, or not caring if he did.

"Mind you," Mavis told him with a saucy grin, "If you ever do fall in love with me an' want to make love, I'm all for it! An' if you start anything physical wi' me, I'm goin' to continue it, 'cos I love you so much. But I still won't i-ni-ti-ate it. You don't have to worry." She pronounced _initiate_ carefully, and then went on, "But even if you fall in love with me an' want to stay 'celebrate,' that's all right, too."

Wil rolled his eyes. "That's not terribly likely," he said. "No, if I do fall in love and want to, you'll be the second to know," he promised with a chuckle. Thinking of how terrifying all this emotional involvement was, he added ruefully, "Maybe even the first."

It truly was a great relief to hear her say that she wouldn't be pressing the issue _,_ but her tender confession of love touched his heart and made it, er, _harder_ , for him not to want to start anything. He readjusted his position for safety, kissed her gently, and closed his eyes for sleep.


	15. The Mouse that Roared

The Manor crew had taken to celebrating Monday evenings in the pub, after the weekend guests had gone and they'd cleaned up after them all. They liked to unwind a bit, and little by little the villagers were warming to them. As they walked in, they saw Sir Robert with his wife, sitting at the small table near the door. He saluted them with his glass, and they gave him nods of greeting and went to take the big table in the opposite corner.

"Oh, isn't this nice?" Mrs. Slocombe asked, surveying the new decorations with a pleased smile. The large table had a couple of tapers in squat little cut-glass candle-holders, and a vase of flowers.

"Yeah, I've heard they're getting to like us a bit more," Mavis offered, allowing Mrs. Slocombe to slide in first. Wil followed, and then Mavis slid in on the end beside him. Rumbold, Peacock, and Lucas slid in on the opposite side.

They'd just got their drinks and settled in for a relaxing chat, when Malcolm Heathcliffe came in. He glanced round, saw them, and came over.

He nodded respectfully to Lucas, and actually touched his cap when he spoke to Mavis. "Pardon the interruption, folks, but I was 'oping to 'ave a quiet word with Mavis."

"I've nothin' to say to you, Malcolm!" she told him angrily.

"I understand that, but I've summat to say to you."

"I've already 'eard what you 'ave to say to me, remember? Up the Manor the other mornin'?"

He looked contrite. "Not even an apology?"

She sighed, and scowled at him. "Oh, all right, but after that you leave me alone from now on!"

She went with him to the far side of the room near the bar, and sat down opposite him at one of the small tables. The Manor crew surreptitiously watched the proceedings. At first, it seemed to go well. Malcolm had a quite humble demeanor when he spoke, and Mavis' scowl melted away. She started to smile, the longer he talked, and when he bought her a drink, she drank the whole thing at one pull. After that, her smile grew warmer and more flirtatious, and Wil's heart sank.

When Malcolm reached across the table to take her hand, Wil turned away in sorrow, not wanting to see any more. He startled when Lucas kicked him under the table and jerked his head urgently toward the pair.

Mavis was no longer receptive. Malcolm started to take her hand again, but she jerked it back and got to her feet. She swayed a little, and Malcolm surged up and grabbed her hand to keep her there when she started to turn away from him.

Brows lowered, he spoke to her in a low, furious voice, and then raked his eyes up and down her frame with a leer.

She smacked him across the face with her free hand, and then wrenched the other out of his grip. "Don't you ever say that to me again!" she yelled.

"You'll be sorry you did that!" Malcolm hissed, and struck her face with his fist. She cried out and fell backwards.

Wil exploded out of his chair and was across the room in an instant. Without looking, he grabbed one of the heavy, cut-glass candle holders. He flung the candle out of it while closing his fist around the glass. He faced off against Malcolm.

"You leave her alone!" he demanded, poking Malcolm hard in the chest.

Malcolm sneered, and asked, "Who do you think you are, telling _me_ what to do?" He shoved him hard as he said "me," and Wil staggered back.

Wil recovered fast, and drove his glass-weighted fist into Malcolm's midsection, saying, "Wilberforce!"

Malcolm doubled over, gasping. Wil brought up his knee in a sharp blow that broke Malcolm's nose. "Claybourne!" he grunted.

Malcolm went down. Wil grabbed his shoulders and lifted him part of the way back up again. "Humphries!" he finished, and smashed the back of Malcolm's head backwards on the seat of the chair.

Malcolm went down again, and didn't move.

Wil stood up, chest heaving, and looked around for Mavis. She was sitting up on the floor a few feet away, staring at him in shock.

"Mavis!" he cried, going to her and helping her up. "Are you all right, love?"

She nodded, eyes wide. She cupped his cheek in one hand. "Oh, you don't look half pale, Wil. Are _you_ all right?"

He reached up and pressed her hand against his cheek. He was still out of breath, and felt strange. He noticed Mavis' right eye was beginning to blacken, and a wave of unnamed, intense emotion broke over him—rage, mixed with protective affection, mixed with a wild desire to be closer to her.

"I think..." he said faintly.

"Yes?"

"I think..."

"You think what? Are you all right, Wil?"

"I think I've come over a bit peculiar!" Helpless in the wake of that intensity, Wil brought their mouths together hard. His other arm went around her and hauled her to him in an urgently close embrace. His hands slid up into her hair, to angle her head just right for his kiss.

Their previous kisses had been gentle, tender, and exploratory. This was none of those. This was claiming, passionate, devouring, nearly desperate. Mavis clenched the back of his shirt in her hands, and gave as good as she got.

After a few moments, Wil became aware of Captain Peacock clearing his throat at them. He unhurriedly finished the kiss, gave Mavis a tender, slightly embarrassed smile, and looked up at their friends.

All the others were standing in a semicircle around them, watching. Rumbold and Peacock looked shocked, Mrs. Slocombe and Miss Brahms were trying not to laugh, and Lucas was smirking at them.

Wil started to speak, but his voice broke and came out as a nervous squeak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You're all never going to let me forget this, are you?"

"No," Peacock rumbled in his deep, matter-of-fact baritone.

"Certainly not!" Mrs. Slocombe crowed with glee. "It's not often we get to see you lose your composure, Mr. Humphries!"

Miss Brahms shook her head. "Nevah!" she said, showing all her teeth in a huge smile.

Wil broke into a pleased grin. "Good!" he replied, giving them his old, flirtatious eyebrow-twitch. They burst into fresh giggles, and still smiling, Wil turned back to Mavis.

"Have you a burning desire to stay here, or would you like to go for a walk in the moonlight with me?" he asked.

Still out of breath from his kiss (Wil noted smugly), she shook her head. "My burning desire is for something other than stayin' 'ere!" she told him, and started dragging him by the hand toward the door. Wil glanced back at the others with a raised-eyebrows, pursed lips look of titillation, and followed her out.

In the pub, Sir Robert came hurrying over. "I saw the whole altercation, chaps."

Henry Heathcliffe came over too, from a different part of the room. "Me an' all." He nudged Malcolm with his toe, as Malcolm was beginning to stir. "Get up!" he ordered.

"Henry, you planning to press any charges against Humphries?" Sir Robert asked.

Henry shook his head and scoffed, as he helped a swaying Malcolm to his feet. "Lad's an idiot, strikin' a lady like that. Seems to me 'e was only doin' what any right-thinkin' man ought to do," he grumbled.

"Just so," Sir Robert agreed. "Is the lad all right?"

Malcolm felt the bump on the back of his head. "I'm gonna kill that poof!" he growled.

"Now, now, young Heathcliffe," Sir Robert interrupted. "You might not want to be making death threats in front of a magistrate, especially one who just saw you assault a lady!"

"Shut yer cake-hole," his father warned him. "You're in enough trouble already!"

He steered him towards the door, but Sir Robert stopped them. "Just so you know, Malcolm: having heard you utter that threat, I shall know whom to nab first, if Humphries gets injured somehow. You'll be our first suspect! Henry, get him out of here."

Nodding grimly, Henry took his offspring by the arm and dragged him out of the pub.

"That was kind of you, Sir Robert." Rumbold signaled the barman. "May we buy you a drink? We've been rather worried about that young hooligan for a while now."

"I'll take it, and thank you," Sir Robert said with a genial nod. "Good evening, folks!" He took his fresh drink back to his own table.

"Well, that's young Heathcliffe's business settled," Peacock said, as they all settled back into their seats at the big table.

"Rather effectively, from what I saw," Lucas agreed. "I say, I didn't know Mr. Humphries had it in him!"

"The thrashing, or the kissing?" Miss Brahms asked with a mischievous smile.

"Either one, really! I'm just a tad astonished at him, to tell the truth!"

"Mr. Humphries has truly, er, branched out, let us say, since moving to the country," Peacock remarked.

Rumbold nodded. "He certainly has. Perhaps he's just a late bloomer. At any rate, I think he's safe from that bully now, and Sir Robert seems more agreeable now as well. All we have to do is get Moulterd sorted, and we shall be home free. We can't have him running around the town telling everyone we kidnapped his daughter!"

"No, especially since she's the one who dragged Mr. Humphries out of here. If anything, it was her who kidnapped him!"

Mrs. Slocombe nudged him. "I didn't see him complaining, did you?"

"No, Mrs. Slocombe, I did not. In fact, I've rarely seen him look happier. Perhaps he should have moved to the country years ago!"


	16. A Statement and a Question

Wil and Mavis strolled down the gravel lane, almost as bright as day in the brilliant moonlight. The night air had cooled their ardor a bit, so they walked in a comfortable silence. Wil was still reeling in the wake of that strong emotion in the pub, and he was thinking hard as they walked. Eventually, he reached a decision, and took Mavis's hand in his.

She smiled at him and gave it a squeeze, swinging it between them as they walked.

"Where's a good spot where we could sit and talk privately?" Wil asked. "I have a statement to make, and a question to ask."

"Just up around the bend," she replied, hastening her step and tugging him along. There was a stone bench beside the lane, and the two of them sat down close together on it.

"What did you want t'say?" she asked.

That persistent, intense, emotion that he'd felt in the pub came over him again, the tender protective feeling, mixed with that wild desire to be closer to her, that need for more of her, and he thought he might faint. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and his voice shook when he spoke, but he didn't hesitate. "Just this," he said, gently caressing the side of her face with trembling fingers. He took another deep breath and continued. "When I saw you go off with Malcolm and start talking, I thought you wanted him back, and that I'd lost you. It nearly broke my heart. Then I saw him strike you and I realized that I was prepared to do violence against anyone who tried to hurt you... and that I could never be without you."

He slid off the bench, down onto one knee, and, heart pounding, asked, "Mavis—will you marry me, dear?"

Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Me?" she squeaked. "You want to marry _me_?"

"Of course I do, love. Come now, yes or no," he urged faintly. "Put me out of me misery!" He hoped he wouldn't pass out from nerves.

She laughed in joy. "Of course it's yes!" she cried, with tears of happiness shining in the corners of her eyes.

Wil rose with wobbling knees, and pulled Mavis up to face him, so he could throw his trembling arms around her. He felt tears wet his face, and buried it in her shoulder so she wouldn't see him crying.

Mavis must have felt his quivering, for she began making gentling motions. She ran her hands down his back over and over, and spoke in soft, soothing tones. Wil felt an instant of amusement, having seen her use the same technique to calm the restive stallion.

It worked on him, too, especially when the blood stopped rushing through his ears quite so fast, and he could start to make sense of her gentle murmurs.

"There, now, Wil, there's no need to be nervous! I want to marry you more'n I want anything else in the world. You're so 'andsome and sweet t'me, how could I not? I know you're not much of a fighting man, an' I love that about you, but you coulda knocked me over with a feather when you laid out Malcolm like you done. T'think you'd go against your own gentle nature like that, for me—especially when you're goin' against your own nature for me already—"

Wil flushed, not knowing if she was referring to the fact that it wasn't natural for him to develop such a close emotional connection with anyone (a niggling little voice inside him called it "falling in love") or to the fact that he was naturally attracted to men. Although he had enjoyed his occasional trysts with women in the distant past, he had normally defaulted to men. Men found him more attractive than women did, probably due to his high voice and effeminate mannerisms. He hadn't actually been joking, that time he'd told Lucas that women were usually put off by their second look at him. And the ones who _were_ attracted to him were so forward and intimidating that he had always run scared from them. Mrs. Slocombe was a prime example: her attentions had terrified him!

But Mavis was sweet and gentle, and anything but intimidating. She had looked at him—voice, mannerisms, exaggerated emotions, flamboyant dress sense, and everything—and seen a real man, and had fallen in love with him just the way he was. Even now, when he was nearly going to pieces, she was not in the least bit disgusted. No, she was still soothing him. Her voice continued with reassuring murmurs, until he loosened his panicked embrace just enough to lift his head from her shoulder and stop her mouth with his own. They sank down together onto the bench, still kissing, and it was a long time before they made it back to Millstone Manor that evening.

* * *

 _Review, please!_


	17. Best Places to Do It

Next morning there was an impromptu party when Wil and Mavis announced their engagement over breakfast. There were squeals of joy, and congratulations, and Wil was amused to see Lucas passing a few bank-notes to Mrs. Slocombe. He wondered how much they had bet on him, and considered demanding a cut of the winnings.

They were both pleased to hear that Henry was not filing any charges, but astounded to discover that he was actually on their side.

"He's not a bad sort, really," Lucas told them. "He's like an uppity horse. You just have to let him know who's the boss, and he respects you."

"So now the biggest problem we have left is my dad," Mavis realized. She glanced at Wil, looking worried. "I don't suppose we'll want him to give me away at our wedding, would we?"

"Wouldn't be me first choice, no," Wil admitted.

"'Ere, didn't I say you could 'ave a smashing wedding in that little chapel?" Miss Brahms said.

"You did!" Wil remembered. "I just hope that when the time comes, I'll be more ready for it than old Hubert!"

"Well, at least you're younger than what 'e was," she comforted him. "Ninety-two, and still Unready!"

Mrs. Slocombe asked, in her usual dignified manner, "When were you thinking of doing it?"

Everyone froze and stared at her for a moment, and Wil's eyebrows shot up. He cleared his throat. "Well, I don't know, really—it's all been rather sudden! Soon, though."

"Yes, I'd imagine you'd be in rather a hurry to do it," Lucas teased.

"We'll 'ave to see when the vicar is available," Mavis pointed out. "It might not be for another month or so!"

"Ah, but can two such passionate, impetuous lovers wait that long?" Lucas asked dramatically, holding one hand over his heart. "Or will Mr. Humphries, eager to secure the hand of his lovely young bride, be forced, as the suitors of old, to make an emergency trip to Gretna Green?" In an undertone he added, "So they can do it while they're there?"

Wil glared at him. "I shall smack your wrist in a minute!" he warned.

Lucas smiled his old, Grace Brothers smile at him, and Wil relented and took another tack. "Actually, I think we'd probably prefer to just do it here," he said innocently. He waited until Lucas took a sip of his morning tea before adding, "After all, me mother's going to want to be involved."

Lucas sprayed his mouthful of tea, and Wil smirked into his teacup with great satisfaction. Lucas really did bring out the worst in him, but it was such fun!

"Oh, that's right," Mavis said. She asked Wil nervously, "Do you think your mother will even like me?"

Wil smiled and patted her hand. "She'll be so overjoyed at my getting married at all that she won't even know what to do with herself, but once she meets you and sees how delightful you are, she'll love you for yourself even more."

"Mmm!" Mavis leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "You're lovely, Wil."

"'Wil'?" Lucas asked. "Thought you went by Claybourne."

Wil shrugged. "Claybourne, Wilberforce, it's all the same to me. But only me _closest_ friends call me Wil," he explained.

"Oh? And how many friends are close enough to call you Wil?" Lucas asked.

Wil gave him a pointed look. "One," and patted Mavis's hand.

Wil phoned his mother that afternoon. "Hello, Mother! How are you, dear? Yes, yes, I'm fine. Listen, I'm phoning because I have news! Well, _I_ think it's good news. But before I tell you what it is, I have to tell you a story."

Wil told his mother about the poor, abused farmer's daughter, spinning it into such a tragic yarn that his mother was sniffling by the end of it.

"Yes, I know. I know, dear, but there's a happy ending. The father has been sacked and banned from the property, and the young lady in question has fallen in love with a very nice man who would never even thinking of lifting a hand to her. He proposed to her last night, and now they're engaged to be married!"

He listened to his mother gush and coo, and congratulated himself for setting it up like this. If he had led with the news of his engagement, his mother would have come over all protective, and would have hated Mavis for stealing her little boy. This way, not only were her sympathies already engaged toward Mavis, but he'd set himself up as the girl's knight in shining armor—a role not even his mum could criticize.

Ah, she was finally winding down. Oh! She was asking him what his news was.

"Well, Mother, it's like this. I'm phoning to tell you that I'm engaged. Engaged. To be married, dear! _YES_ , to a girl! _I'M_ the man who proposed to the farmer's daughter last night! Yes! It seems I'm the one she loves, poor girl."

There was silence at the other end, and Wil silently counted down in his head for thirteen seconds. When he reached one, he held the phone out at arms' length just in time to avoid being deafened by Annie Humphries' shriek of joy.

He let her chatter on for another few minutes, and then asked, "So, are you coming to my wedding, or aren't you? You might want to meet your future daughter-in-law, after all. What's that? Day after tomorrow? Of course, Mother! It will be lovely to see you, and show you around the place. What's that? Oh, well, yes, I guess you can bring a friend if you want to. All right, then. I'll pick you both up at the station. Ta-ra!"


	18. Alexandra the Great

The next day brought a surprise to everyone but Miss Lovelock, to whom it brought an absolute shock. Lucas had told everyone about his marriage and about his daughter, but he'd forgotten that Jessica hadn't been in the room when he'd done so.

He was outdoors grooming and tacking up the tall grey mare, Rose of Sharon, hoping to get away from Jessica for a while. He chatted idly with Mr. Humphries and Mavis, who were working at hitching up the pony to the trap so they could do some shopping to prepare for Mrs. Humphries' visit the next day.

He had confided in them that he was well tired of Jessica's attentions, and that the person he really wanted to pursue was Shirley Brahms. "I've never even encouraged Jessica, seriously,but ever since Mr. Grace died she hasn't left me alone!"

"The old Mr. Lucas wouldn't have minded that," Mr. Humphries pointed out.

Lucas shook his head. "Well, after being married to Rose for ten years, the new Mr. Lucas has an eye for quality and wouldn't take Mr. Grace's leavings if you paid me! But the thing about Jessica is, she's tenacious! I've just got to go for a ride and get away by myself for a while."

"Don't blame you," Mr. Humphries agreed. "One wonders whether Miss Lovelock would be so enamored of you if you were still just poor Mr. Lucas from Grace Brothers."

Lucas gave him cynical look. "Not bloody likely. Not when she had Mr. Grace, worth several million pounds, in the offing!"

"So how's your campaign to woo Miss Brahms going?" Mr. Humphries asked.

Lucas shook his head. "Nowhere. How can it, when I have to be seen with Jessica all over town? And Shirley'd never believe I'd rather be with her, what with Jessica being so young and pretty—"

"Why, thank you, R.J.!" Jessica said with a flirtatious air as she came around the corner of the barn. "Oh, are you going for a ride? Hang on a tic, and I'll tack up Dover and go with you!"

She went into the barn, and Lucas rolled his eyes at the other two. "Eugh. How much longer d'you think I'll have to do this?" he asked Mr. Humphries quietly, so Jessica couldn't hear.

Mr. Humphries shrugged. "I don't know as you have to do it at all anymore, now that the Heathcliffes are sorted, the magistrates like us, and we have a new farm worker."

"Yes, but what about Mavis' dad?"

"'E does tend to 'old a grudge, my dad," Mavis put in. "If 'e 'asn't been around much, it just means 'e's plannin' somethin'."

"But wouldn't it be better to present him with a united front?" Lucas asked her.

Mavis shook her head no. "Better for 'im to believe you're on your own for now, Mr. Lucas. If you throw your lot in wi' us too soon, then you'll be on 'is bad list too!"

Lucas sighed, conceding the truth of her words. "I just wish we didn't have to worry about all the village politics," he muttered.

Jessica reappeared with the gelding, coming in once again on the tail end of the conversation. "I agree, it is tiresome," she said cheerfully. "Never mind, darling. Let's just enjoy our ride." She tied the horse to the post and began grooming him.

Lucas rolled his eyes at Mr. Humphries and got a sympathetic look in return as the smaller man buckled the pony's headstall.

"Hello, who's this?" Jessica paused in her grooming as a long, grey car pulled into the drive. She glanced at the others. "We expecting anyone?"

They all shook their heads no, and waited curiously as the car came to a stop and the back door opened. A small, ginger tornado burst forth, saw Lucas, and ran straight into his arms, screaming, "Daddy!"

Jessica's jaw dropped.

Laughing, Lucas swept up his daughter off the ground and hugged her. "Lexie! Sweetheart, what are you doing here? I was going to get you in a couple of days!"

"Auntie Fiona had a day off and drove me down early!"

Jessica noticed the fond smiles on Mavis and Mr. Humphries' faces. "Did _you_ know he had a daughter?" she demanded with a scowl.

Mr. Humphries nodded. "Oh, yes. Told us all about her, second day he was here."

"Yeah, about 'is wife and how 'e lost 'er, and' about 'is little girl," Mavis confirmed. "Don't she look sweet, though!" Mavis smiled happily.

Lexie was tiny and wriggly, and had a curly cloud of fiery ginger hair. She had dimples and a big smile that looked like her father's.

A short, greying woman got out from behind the wheel. "Hello!" she waved. She had dimples like Lexie's.

"All right, Fee?" Lucas greeted, carrying Lexie over so he could give his sister-in-law a kiss hello.

"Fine, thanks, Jamie, love," she said, with a kiss on the cheek followed by an affectionate pat, "Who are all these folk, then?" She had a nice, lowlands Scottish accent.

Lucas gave Lexie a squeeze and put her down so he could point to each one. "This is Miss Lovelock, the young lady who took care of Mr. Grace in his declining years. This is Mr. Humphries, my best friend when I worked at Grace Brothers, and his charming young fiancée, Miss Moulterd. Everyone, this is my sister-in-law, Miss Fiona Rowe, and my _beautiful_ daughter, Alexandra Lucas."

Everyone murmured greetings and shook hands, but Jessica was decidedly abrupt, and sent Lucas a glare that curled his hair.

Heh. In for a penny... "Oh, Jess, I won't be able to go for that ride with you after all," he told her. "If you want to put Dover away and take out Shaz instead, she's all ready."

"Fine!" she huffed, marching over to him. She ripped Shazzer's reins out of his hand, gave him Dover's and was mounted a moment later.

Lucas grabbed the mare's bridle. "Something wrong, Jess?"

She pursed her lips and glared at him. "You never told me you had a daughter! Or even a wife!"

"Oh, didn't I? Sorry," he replied breezily. "Have a good ride!" He released the bridle and turned back to the others as Jessica wrenched the mare's head around and clattered away.

Lucas laughed quietly.

"Now you've done it," Mr. Humphries warned him. "She won't want to see you again!"

Lucas nodded with a big grin. "I know! And I didn't even have to do anything!"

Lexie tugged on his coat. "Daddy, I don't like that woman," she said.

"She's a good judge of character, isn't she?" Mr. Humphries said. He bent down and offered Lexie his hand. "I hope we're going to be great friends, Miss Lucas," he said to her. "Do you know, your dad is one of my very best pals! We used to get up to so much mischief together. Oh, the stories I could tell!"

"What kind of stories, Mr. Humphries?" Lexie asked eagerly.

"Oh, all kinds—" he began, but Lucas interrupted him by clearing his throat pointedly. That was all he needed—for Mr. Humphries to start telling tales out of store!

"No need to get that far into it, Mr. Humphries!"

Mr. Humphries sighed. "Oh, very well." But Lucas saw him give Lexie a wink and mouth the word "Later," and he sighed inwardly.

Meanwhile, Fee had been talking to Mavis, who was telling her about the farm. Fee was looking nostalgic. "Oh, it sounds very like my family's farm, where I grew up!"

Lucas nodded. "Very like, in fact," he told her. "Here, why don't the three of us go inside and get settled. When d'you have to be back, Fee?"

"Tomorrow, I'm afraid," she sighed.

Lucas gave a sympathetic grimace. "That's a long drive when you can only stay a day! Can't you stay longer? There's going to be some great entertainment coming up!"

"What sort?" Fee asked him.

He grinned and gestured toward Mavis and Mr. Humphries, who were just rolling out the trap. "His mother's traveling here tomorrow to meet the girlfriend!"

Mr. Humphries huffed. "Mister Lucas! My fiancée and I are not directing our family affairs for your amusement!"

Fiona chuckled. "Mr. Humphries, you _have_ met my brother-in-law before, haven't you? Everything that happens is for his amusement!"

Mavis tugged on Mr. Humphries' sleeve. "You said 'family affairs'!" she said, beaming. "You called me your fiancée!"

Mr. Humphries, ever ruled by his emotions, got caught up in her enthusiasm. "I did, didn't I?" he said, with a little giggle. He gave her a quick squeeze.

Lucas nudged Fee. "Excuse them. They just got engaged last night," he explained, gesturing to them. "But seriously, Fee, why not stay another day? It's an awful long drive."

"Oh, I know it is! My bum is numb! Well, let me make a phone call and see if I can sort it, all right?"

"Good, now let's go inside and meet the others, and get you two settled." He handed Lexie the gelding's lead rope. "Here, Lex, why don't you take this big fellow back to the stable and put him in his loose box? Can't miss it, it has his name over it: Dover."

"All right, Daddy," Lexie replied, obviously taking the responsibility seriously.

"Watch him, though. He's usually a gentleman, but he _can_ get out of line sometimes."

"Oh, I will, Daddy. I'd like to see him try anything with _me!_ " Lexie said, with a hint of threat in her fluting little voice as she led the 16-hand grey away.

Mr. Humphries laughed. "Do you know, I can just see Mrs. Slocombe there, at eight years old."

Lucas glared. "Don't you two have somewhere to go?" he hinted.

"Oh, I dunno," Mavis said airily. "Seems a bit entertainin' to stay 'ere and watch _you_ manage _your_ family affairs!"

Lucas snorted. "No wonder you get on so well with _him_ ," he said, nodding at Mr. Humphries. "Two of a kind, you are."


	19. Mavis Meets Mother

At 2:30 the next day, Wil dressed up in his bowler, boots, and red hunting coat to go and pick up his mother and her friend at the railway station.

Annie Humphries, at 70, was still extremely spry and agile as she descended from the platform. She was followed by a very tall, muscular-looking older man. He towered over his companion, straight-backed and broad-shouldered, with a thick shock of very white hair. He had brilliant blue eyes and a tidy white mustache. He was carrying Annie's case along with his own, as though they both weighed nothing.

Annie reached the bottom of the stairs and glanced around for her son. She looked right past him at first, but then did a double-take. "Oh, Wilberforce, dear! Don't you look smart! And healthy. Such nice color in your cheeks!"

Wil took off his hat and met her, giving her a little hug and a kiss. "Thank you, Mother. You look very well, too."

"This your son, Annie?" the man asked in a thick, Yorkshire accent.

"Yes, this is my Wilberforce. This is my friend, Mr. Beck."

The two men shook hands. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Beck."

"Morgan," Mr. Beck replied. "You c'n call me Morgan if you wish, young man." He pronounced it "yoong mon."

Wil liked him immediately. He'd called him _young_ man! But still, he was a stranger. "Perhaps after I know you better. Come right this way, Mother. I'll drive us up to the Manor." Mavis had taught him to drive the pony well enough that he finally felt confident enough to do it alone. He led them to the trap and helped his mother up into it. "Mr. Beck, will you be all right in the back?"

"Aye, I'll do weel enow," he said, stepping up easily into the back.

Wil mounted the driver's seat and gathered the reins, and clucked to the pony. "Gee up!"

The pony started walking, and Annie gasped. "Oh, Wilberforce dear, where did you learn to do that?"

He straightened, pleased with how impressed she sounded. "Mavis taught me. And that's not all! I can milk a cow, rod a drain, feed the stock, plant potatoes—lots of things! She's taught me everything!"

His mum smiled. "She sounds as if she's very good for you."

He nodded, a fond smile crossing his face. "Do you know, I think she is."

"What is she like? Is she pretty?"

Wil nodded. "Oh, yes. Very pretty. Mind you, she is a farm girl. She's not one of those tough city girls with a lot of makeup and nail varnish and cynicism. She's more—well, she's strong. Capable. Wholesome-looking. She wears farm clothes and no makeup, and she's still completely lovely. She's very sweet and a bit innocent, but she's not afraid to take control if she sees things going south. She keeps all of us in line, up there."

Annie giggled. "You sound absolutely besotted!"

Wil shifted his weight uncomfortably. His feelings for Mavis were still so new that he still wasn't comfortable acknowledging them, much less labeling them. To talk about them with someone else, and that someone his mother, was unthinkable.

"Mother, please," he hissed. "Don't embarrass me!"

Annie patted his hand and subsided.

After a few moments of silence, broken by the steady clopping of the horse's hooves, she asked, "Tell me some more about her and her father. You told me a little on the phone. Tell me the rest, since we have a few minutes."

Wil sighed, but started to explain how he and the others had started to see that Moulterd's abuse of his daughter was a problem. At first, they had assumed it was an empty threat, because it seemed so far-fetched that a father would physically punish his 24-year-old daughter. Physical abuse was so far from their personal experiences that none of them took it seriously. Wil told her about how overworked Mavis was, how she had to wake before dawn every morning, how she had to do all the milking and much of the farming, in addition to her household chores such as the cooking and cleaning. He told his mother about lugging the gigantic logs to the boiler, and how Maurice had dismissed all that as "women's work." He told how Mavis hadn't even been getting paid until very recently.

The last straw had been when he and Mrs. Slocombe had given Mavis the morning off, and her father had strapped her for it.

"Her whole lower back was all over welts from the strap, and he'd done it so hard some of them had broken the skin and were bleeding at the edges. Mrs. Slocombe helped her dress them, and then Mr. Lucas and I took her to the doctor. While we were gone, Miss Brahms and Mr. Rumbold sacked Mr. Moulterd—"

"What?" interrupted Mr. Beck from the back, sounding startled. "Who's Moulterd?"

"Mavis's dad."

"The one who beats her?"

"The same, although he won't be doing it again. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"His Christian name isn't Maurice, is it?"

Wil glanced back in surprise. "It is! Why, do you know him?"

Mr. Beck smiled grimly. "Better'n he'd like!"

Annie turned and asked in surprise, "How do _you_ know the girl's father, Morgan?"

Mr. Beck shrugged. "Oh, we go back a fair bit. Let's just say we didn't get on." That was all he said, and Wil and his mother glanced at each other and shrugged. If he wanted to say more, he would.

"Well, can't you speed the horse up a bit, dear?" Annie said. "I have a daughter-in-law to meet!"

Wil clucked to the horse and gave her more rein, and she broke into a slow trot.

"Just make sure you're nice to her, Mother," he advised. "She knows how close we are, and she's terrified you won't like her."

Annie nudged her son. "Of course I'll like her! My dear little Wilberforce, anyone who has the good taste to fall in love with you is definitely someone worth meeting!"

When they arrived, Mavis was waiting in the doorway with an eager smile. Beck hopped down like a much younger man, holding both cases. Wil jumped down and offered a hand to his mother to help her down, and then beckoned to Mavis.

She hurried over and gave Wil a quick kiss on the cheek.

He gave a quick intake of breath, still getting used to her affection, and then introduced them. "This is Mavis, Mother. Mavis, my mother, Annie Humphries, and her friend, Mr. Beck."

"Hello, Mr. Beck. Oh, Mrs. Humphries, I'm so happy to meet you!" Mavis exclaimed with a big smile.

Annie smiled and took both Mavis's hands in hers. "Likewise, my dear. Here, let me look at you."

Mavis cast a self-conscious look at Wil, who just smiled. Mavis was wearing a pair of dark trousers with a pink knit shirt. She had put her hair up and had swapped her farm boots for a pair of low leather shoes, but was otherwise unadorned.

Wil thought she looked beautiful.

So did Annie, apparently. "Well! Wilberforce told me you were pretty, but he neglected to say how young you were!"

"Is that a problem?" Mavis asked nervously.

Annie laughed. "If it's not a problem for either of you, it's certainly not a problem for me! No, it looks as if he was right—you're quite a lovely little thing."

Mavis, thrilled, let go of Annie's hands and turned to Wil. "Did you really say that about me?"

Flushing a little, he nodded, and she flung her arms around him and gave him another kiss. "You're just the nicest man in the whole world!" she gushed.

"Well, you _are_ ," he told her quietly, still blushing. "Now, hadn't we better get these two inside to meet everyone and get settled?"

At that moment, Rumbold and Lucas came out the door, talking quietly and seriously. They saw the new arrivals and hurried over.

"Hello, Mrs. Humphries," Rumbold said. "How nice to see you again. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Oh, Mr. Rumbold. Yes, it has. This is my friend, Mr. Morgan Beck. Would you just get the bags, please, Mr. Rumbold?" Annie took charge.

A bit disgruntled, Rumbold took the two cases from Mr. Beck. "If you'll just follow me, I'll show you to your rooms."

"I'll be there in a minute, Mother," Wil called. "We just have to put up the trap first."

Lucas came over. "Want me to see to this young laddie for you?" he offered, gesturing to the pony.

"No, Mr. Lucas," Mavis intervened. "Wil has to learn how to do it for himself!"

Lucas backpedaled. "Of course, Miss Moulterd. Now, you make sure you show him all the ins and outs of it, all right?" he said with a smirk.

She nodded. "Oh, I will. I'll teach him how to do a rub-down, and how to sack out, an all!"

Lucas snorted out a laugh. "She's very thorough, isn't she?" he asked Wil.

Wil nodded. "She certainly is that!"

"Well, the pony shied at a blanket when we was harnessin' 'im," Mavis explained innocently. "So we got to sack 'im out sometime soon!"

Lucas said nothing, but his expression said it all. The good old days of constant innuendo were _not_ over.

That night, Wil was nervous about his mother's presence in the house when Mavis was present in his bed. "What if she finds out that we're sharing a bed before the wedding?" he asked her when they snuggled up together that night.

Mavis laughed. "I think she's going to be too busy with Mr. Beck to bother much about us! You didn't see her sneaking her case into Mr. Beck's room earlier! I did." She grinned.

"She didn't!" Wil gasped.

Mavis giggled. "She did."

"Well, I hope he's good to her, that's all," Wil said. He felt better already. Honestly, it was too much for his mother to expect, anyway, for her mid-50s son not to share a bed with his young, gorgeous, blonde fiancée! And it wasn't any of her business what they did or did not do together in that bed.


	20. Whom God Has Joined Together

The night before the wedding, the men of Millstone Manor took Wil down to one of the two local pubs for a few drinks. Mr. Maxwell, the photographer, had arrived that afternoon, and was duly invited along with them. He was the same one who had taken their group photo for the advertisement, so he already knew everyone.

Meanwhile, Annie Humphries, Mrs. Slocombe, and Miss Brahms took Mavis to the other one, where Celia Littlewood and Miss Lovelock joined them. Fiona Rowe, Lucas's sister-in-law, stayed behind at the Manor to mind Lexie.

Mrs. Slocombe drank the rest of them under the table, but Annie Humphries gave her a run for her money.

Wil, knowing his low tolerance, drank only enough to calm his nerves. Was it his fault that he was extremely nervous, and had to calm them over and over?

He was therefore a bit tipsy when they rejoined the ladies for the ride home. Mavis was very affectionate, and Wil felt himself sink down into a blissed-out stupor at all of her caresses and little kisses all over his face. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her neck and hair, and rode home quite happily that way with her scent (and a good bit of her hair) in his nostrils.

Back at the Manor, he guzzled several glasses of water so he wouldn't have a hangover at his wedding, and compelled Mavis to do the same.

Miss Brahms was moving back into the attic room for the night, and Mavis had elected to abandon Wil's bed and sleep in Mrs. Slocombe's room. She didn't want any bad luck to follow them if Wil saw her on the morning of their wedding. Wil found his bed to be large, cold, and lonely. He couldn't get comfortable, and he spent much of the night tossing and turning... and getting up to use the en-suite after drinking all that water!

They had planned for a morning wedding, with a breakfast to be served on the Manor lawn afterwards. Wil and his best man, Mr. Lucas, headed out to the chapel early to make sure everything was ready. The vicar was already there, and greeted them both cordially, and explained where to stand and how it would all work. He verified that Lucas had the bride's ring, and that Wil knew what to say and when.

Wil was pale and sweating, and his stomach roiled. He answered the vicar's questions in a nervous squeak, and mopped his forehead with his dark red handkerchief.

He'd worn a pale grey suit that Miss Brahms had told him looked "smashing" with his silver hair. His tie was dark red, to match his handkerchief. Every time he wiped his brow with it, he had to re-flute it, re-fold it, and shove it back into his pocket. Mr. Lucas wore a charcoal suit, likewise with a dark red tie and handkerchief. Wil wondered what Mavis would look like, and had to wipe his brow all over again at the thought.

He didn't even know who Mavis had chosen to attend her! He thought it might have been Miss Lovelock, as they were of a similar age. He grimaced at the thought, but then conceded to himself that as long as Moulterd and Malcolm stayed away, he didn't care who else was there.

Guests began arriving, including Captain Peacock, who walked in with military pride—and Jessica Lovelock on his arm. He seated her close to the front, and then headed to the back of the church again.

Lucas chuckled. "There's someone who isn't too proud to take Mr. Grace's leavings."

Wil nodded, and swallowed hard. He wiped his sweating palms on his trousers and took a deep breath.

Miss Brahms entered alone, and smiled at Lucas and Wil before taking her seat. Mrs. Humphries and Mr. Beck came in and sat in the front row. Soon everyone was seated, and the vicar came in and closed the rear doors. He came up the aisle and beckoned to Wil and Lucas, who took their places at the front.

Mr. Rumbold began playing the organ (he'd got Jory the new farm lad to pump it for him), and the rear doors opened again.

Mavis and Lexie had become fast friends over the last few weeks, so she had asked Lexie to be flower girl.

"Oh, isn't she sweet?" Miss Brahms murmured audibly as Lexie walked down the aisle, industriously scattering creamy-white rose petals the same color as her dress.

Standing next to Wil, Mr. Lucas swallowed and went pale.

"What's the matter?" Wil asked him in a low voice. "I'm supposed to be the nervous one, not you!"

"Can't help it," Lucas choked out, eyes fixed on his daughter. "I just got a horrible premonition of 10 or 15 years from now!"

Wil chuckled. As funny as Mr. Lucas had found it to see him with a girlfriend, Wil found it just as amusing seeing Lucas as the doting, protective father.

Lexie reached the front, and came to stand next to her father, reaching up to hold his hand. He smiled down at her. "You did very well," he bent and whispered, and she beamed in reply.

Mrs. Slocombe had apparently been chosen as matron of honor, because she came down the aisle next. Her dress and hat were dark red, and looked wonderful against her clouds of silver hair (she'd let the lavender rinse fade for the wedding).

"Beauty before age, is that it?" Lucas whispered to Wil, who kicked him in the ankle.

Then Wil caught a glimpse of Mavis waiting at the door, and gulped. "And after it," he whispered back.

The music changed as Mrs. Slocombe reached the front, and Mavis started down the aisle on Captain Peacock's arm.

Wil's mouth dropped open. He liked Mavis's usual fresh-faced and practical look—no makeup, hair in a plait, and socks and wellies under her work-dresses—but today she was resplendent. Her dress was an off-the-shoulder, cream-colored concoction, embroidered all over the bodice with dark red flowers and seed pearls, and held up as if by magic. Her face had been lightly and carefully made up, and her honey-colored hair was piled up in an artfully messy up-do with dark red ribbons and little pearls scattered throughout.

"Mr. Humphries, you lucky devil," Mr. Lucas breathed in awe.

"I know!" Wil squeaked faintly. His breath started coming faster as his nerves rebelled, and Lucas grabbed his arm to keep him upright until he had mastered basic breathing once again.

He made it through the ceremony by sheer force of will, mainly because he didn't want to ruin it for Mavis. He made his vows in a voice that didn't shake _too_ much, and he put his ring on her finger with hands that weren't _too_ sweaty.

In fact, he even made it through the vicar's pronouncement of "husband and wife," and even pressed his lips lightly to Mavis's when the vicar told him to. His signature on the register was shaky, but complete. It wasn't until they turned to be presented as "Mr. and Mrs. Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries" that his nerves got the better of him and he collapsed senseless into Lucas's arms.


	21. Let Not Man Put Asunder

When Wil came to, he was lying on the front pew with his head in Mavis's lap. She was stroking his hair. He realized what must have happened, and tried to sit up. "I'm sorry, dear."

She pushed him back down rather effortlessly. "No, you're not gettin' up yet, Wil. You've got to rest and make sure you're all right!"

He relaxed into her lap again. Her hand stroking his forehead felt _very_ nice. He couldn't see or hear anyone else in the chapel. "Where is everyone?"

"After Mr. Lucas an' me put you 'ere on the bench, he and Captain Peacock brought everyone else out. I think they've sent 'em straight up to the house for the reception."

"Oughtn't we to head up there as well?"

"No, we've got to 'have our photos took first. Look, 'ere's the photographer."

Mr. Maxwell sauntered into the chapel. "Hello, you two!" he greeted cheerfully. "No, don't get up, Mr. Humphries. That's a priceless shot right there!"

Maxwell took a few shots of Wil lying on the pew with Mavis stroking his head and gazing down lovingly into his face, then several of them standing together in front of the altar, one of their hands with their new wedding rings, and one of them kissing.

"There, that'll do for now!" He finished up, putting the equipment into his camera bag. "I'll see you up to the Manor, then." He left.

Wil offered his arm to his new bride. "Shall we?"

She took it and they started walking from the chapel up to the house. "They've built a dance floor on the lawn. Didn't know there'd be dancin'."

Wil nodded. "I'm looking forward to it! Do you know, all the things we've done together—baking, cleaning, chasing sheep, sleeping, cricket, darts—and we've never danced together!"

Mavis ducked her head. "I don't know 'ow to dance, on account of I've never done it before."

Wil patted her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. "Don't worry, love. I'm a very good dancer and a strong leader. You shan't have any trouble."

Sure enough, with Wil's strong lead and her own natural grace, Mavis was soon able to keep up with him quite well, even the more intricate steps and flourishes. She was having a wonderful time, and so was he.

"I'm so glad we did this," he said. "Got married, I mean. Even if I fainted afterwards. If we hadn't, we would have missed this wonderful party!"

They stayed and danced until the party wound down. All the gentlemen wanted a dance with the bride, and Wil was only too happy to dance with the ladies... and with Mr. Lucas, who jokingly cut in on one of his dances with Mavis and then chose to dance with the groom instead of the bride!

Mavis let them dance for a few measures, and then cut back in to dance with her husband again. "You had your chance!" she called to Lucas over her shoulder. "He's mine now!"

Lucas laughed and conceded the point (and the groom), and walked away shaking his head. He'd been doing that a lot since he found out about their little romance.


	22. A Consummation Devoutly to be Wish'd

Wil and Mavis hadn't planned to go on a honeymoon quite yet, so when the party broke up, they had a quiet supper with everyone else and then went up together to bed as they always did. Wil put on his pyjamas and got into bed, and he was relieved when Mavis came out of the en-suite wearing her usual long, cotton nightgown. She wouldn't be expecting anything, then, aside from their usual kisses and cuddles and sleep.

Abstractly, he did want to make love with her, but emotionally he just wasn't there yet. He still couldn't put his feelings toward her into words—the vows he had made to her, "to love and to cherish till death do us part," felt true to him, and he felt much more settled in his mind now that they were actually married and publicly committed to each other. However, he still wasn't anywhere near ready to state his feelings like that, completely unscripted! The "with my body I thee honor" had also felt true; however, he hadn't necessarily meant to do it _tonight,_ so he was glad when Mavis approached him without any obvious expectations. He hoped they could perhaps ease into the body-honoring gradually over the next few nights... or weeks. Months, perhaps?

He knew the emotions and commitment involved with Mavis would make their coming together a completely different experience than he'd ever had before. Wil was petrified (and not in the good way).

He opened his arms to his nightgowned bride, and she came to him easily and kissed him. "Wil, you've made me so happy I could burst!" she said, sinking down into his embrace.

"You've made me happy too," he replied, smiling. "Do you know, you looked so beautiful today that when I saw you walking down the aisle to marry me I was struck absolutely speechless!" He tangled his fingers in her dark-blonde waves and brought his lips to hers again.

This kiss was longer and more intense than their previous kisses. It was more like the way he had kissed her in the pub after knocking out Malcolm. When he finally ended it, he was gasping for breath. He found that he'd pulled Mavis half on top of him, and his hands had got a mind of their own and had wandered to some _very_ interesting places when he wasn't paying attention!

Blushing furiously, he tucked his hands into his pyjama sleeves where they wouldn't get into any mischief, and started to apologize. Mavis shushed him by pressing her lips to his again.

When this kiss was over, he discovered that he had rucked up her nightgown to her waist and his hands were roaming her bottom, and that she'd unbuttoned his pyjama top and was stroking his chest.

"Oh, my!" he gasped, snatching his hands back. "I don't—this is—Oh, I hadn't meant to do that!"

Mavis laughed. "I had!" she told him with a saucy wink. At his expression of alarm, she drew back a little, and buttoned his top up again. "It's all right, Wil," she soothed. "You don't have to be scared. I won't do anything to you that you haven't done to me first."

"But that's the trouble!" he protested. "I didn't know I was doing it!"

Mavis gave him a positively wicked grin. "Even better, 'cos you won't be self-conscious!" At his look of panic, she relented. "Never mind, love. What I said before still stands. I love you, and I won't ever push you to do anything that _you_ don't want to do. Even if we never con-sum-mate our marriage at all, you've still made me the happiest woman ever." She pronounced _consummate_ very carefully.

"Well, the thing is, I do want to," Wil admitted. "I'm just terrified." His eyes were wide with fear.

Her face crumpled in sympathy. "Oh, my poor Wil! An' here I am, laughin'!"

"No, that's all right," Wil soothed her. "I just don't know how to go about this business of, well, _making love_. I've never done it before, you know. And I want it to be different, and special, and I love you so much that I'm afraid of messing it up!"

Her mouth fell open. "You—you love me?" she asked. "You do?"

Wil was just as startled as she was. He hadn't planned to say that! He hadn't even been certain before, but now, there it was between them, having slipped out with no effort or anxiety whatever.

Maybe, he thought, the rest of it could be just as effortless.

"I do," he answered simply. "I hadn't completely realized until today."

"Oh, Wil!" Mavis's eyes stated filling with tears. "Oh, I love you, Wil Humphries!" she fell onto him, laughing and crying, pressing kisses to his chest, his face, his neck—

Oh! Wil gasped. She'd hit that sensitive spot on his neck again! She stayed there, kissing and nipping at his neck until he couldn't bear it. With a growl, he clamped his lips to hers and rolled them over so he was the one lying half on top of her. He felt her hands on his bare skin beneath his pyjama top. He paused long enough to drag it off impatiently over his head, before kissing her again.

He lost track of things after that. He didn't know when she'd lost her nightgown, but when his hands found her soft, bare skin, he was heartily glad the gown was gone... and that was his last coherent thought for a long time.

When he finally came back to his senses, he was lying across the bed, naked, his limbs entangled with those of his equally naked young wife. She lay with her head on his shoulder, stroking his chest and kissing it gently, in a sated, languorous fashion.

He kissed the top of her head, and she looked up at him with shining eyes.

"That were incredible!" she said, sounding amazed.

"I'm having a hard time believing it meself," he replied with just as much surprise. "Did we really do that? Did I really, actually, honestly, just make love with my wife?"

"Mmm," Mavis purred. "And you did a fine job, too!" She kissed him. "And you weren't even scared! You were all...bold an'—what's the word? Assertive!"

He gave her a gentle smile. "You made it easy for me. I never even realized what we were doing until it was over!"

"Well... we're well and truly married now. Con-sum-mation an' everythin'. You're stuck wi' me now, Wil Humphries!"

"And very glad of it, too—" he gave her a mischievous look. "—Mavis Humphries!"


	23. A Fiery Wedding Night

Suddenly a great noise arose from the hallway. They heard shouting, and pounding footsteps. They heard someone stop and hammer on their door, yell something incoherent, and then keep running.

"What on earth?" Wil wondered, quickly pulling his pyjamas back on and feeling for his slippers.

They heard the gong downstairs sound. "Oh, no!" Mavis cried. "That's the fire alarm!" She leaped out of bed and looked around for her nightgown. "Wil, did you see where my nightie's got to?"

He glanced up while tying the belt of his dressing-down, and his hands stilled on the ties. Mavis was still completely naked.

"Er," he said. "Er, uhhh... Oh! Um, what'd you say?"

"I said, do you see where—never mind, here it is," she said. It was on the other side of the room, draped over the knob of the bathroom door. "Hm, now 'ow did it get here then?" she asked with a wink, pulling it over her head. She slid her arms into her cardigan and shoved her feet into her boots.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

They ran into the corridor just as Mrs. Slocombe ran past. "Come on, get out of here!" she shouted when she saw them.

Wil grabbed Mavis's hand and took off after the older lady. "What's going on?"

"There's a fire, can't you smell it?" she called back.

"Is everyone else out?" he called. "Is my mother out?"

"I think so. Mr. Lucas and Captain Peacock saw to the guests, and then went out the front, but we'd better go down the back!"

They ran down the back way through the kitchen, and burst through the back door.

The stable was in flames. Clouds of smoke rolled and drifted through the yard, which was a frenzy of activity. Three of the horses were tearing around the courtyard, neighing in terror, while Miss Lovelock tried to lead the fourth into the corral beside the stable. Captain Peacock had taken charge and was organizing a bucket brigade.

Rumbold, Mr. Beck, Fiona Rowe, and Miss Brahms were passing full buckets, and little Lexie Lucas was running the empty buckets back to her father, who was manning the hand pump to refill them.

Captain Peacock saw Wil, Mavis, and Mrs. Slocombe exit the kitchen, and bellowed to them "Mrs. Slocombe! Mr. Humphries! Come here, we need more hands!"

There was a sudden gust of wind, and a cloud of sparks blew across the courtyard, spreading out towards the cow byre and the manor house. Captain Peacock hollered. "Mavis! Get the hose and start hosing down the house and outbuildings! We don't want it to spread! Mrs. Humphries, help her!" Wil's mother and Mavis leaped into action just as Wil and Mrs. Slocombe joined the bucket brigade.

Peacock glanced around for more help. "Mr. Humphries, go and find some more buckets—wait! Who is that?"

Peacock pointed, and Wil looked. A tall, dark figure darted out around the corner of the house, and froze there, gaping at the fire.

"Oi! You there! Come here, we need you!" Peacock called, his resonant baritone carrying easily across the yard.

The figure hesitated, and then slowly came into view.

Wil gasped and scowled. "What are _you_ doing here?" he asked.

It was Malcolm Heathcliffe.

"Who is that?" Peacock demanded, peering into the smoky darkness. "Oh! Young Heathcliffe! Don't know what you're doing here, but grab a bucket!" He pressed a bucket into Malcolm's hands and set him right at the front of the line, throwing buckets of water directly on the flames and the wood, to soak it before they went up..

Wil found another bucket in the byre and ran it over to Lexie. He went for another, but got charged by one of the horses. It was still panicking and nearly bowled him over. It headed straight for the door of the burning stable.

"Mr. Humphries!" Miss Lovelock screamed. "Catch him before he goes back in!"

Wil had already started running, but the big grey was already inside the stable. Wil could hear his terrified whickers.

"No!" came the shrill cry of Lexie Lucas, who dropped her empty bucket and darted into the burning stable after the horse.

Wil's eyes went wide and he swore. He raced toward the stable and skidded to a halt inside the door. "On me!" he shouted at Malcolm who obliged by dousing him with an entire bucket of water.

Spluttering, Wil ducked into the smoky stable. "Lexie!" he shouted. He heard Dover's screaming whinnies, and followed the sound. He brought up a fold of his wet dressing-gown to cover his nose and mouth. The inside of the stable was smoky, with flames coming up at the back.

In the flickering light from the fire, he could see them both outside Dover's stall. The straw bedding in it was was completely aflame. Dover wanted to go in, but Lexie had caught him and had a death-grip on his halter. Her feet left the ground as he tossed his head and reared, but she held on doggedly. Wil coughed and called to her as he made his way closer to the back. "Lexie! Let go of him!"

"No! I have to get him out of here!" she shouted back, her voice hoarse.

"Just get out and let me get him!" Wil called. He dodged a flying hoof as he tried to reach the girl.

"No! You're rubbish with horses! My dad said so!" And she hung on as Dover reared again and left her dangling from his halter.

"We'll just see about that," Wil muttered, edging closer. The one thing he did know was that horses weren't nearly as scared if they couldn't see the fire. He tore off his sopping-wet dressing gown, and the next time Dover's head came down, he threw it over the horse's eyes.

Dover stopped rearing. He stood still, trembling, a long way from calm—but at least he had stopped leaping about.

And Lexie—where was Lexie? She—oh, there she was. She'd collapsed and her clothes were starting to smolder. And the dressing gown was beginning to slip off over Dover's head.

Wil grabbed the belt and loosely lashed the dressing gown over Dover's eyes. Then he ripped open his wet pyjama top and shrugged it off. He wrapped it around Lexie, rolling her over in it to smother the sparks that were charring her clothes. His chest and back felt like he was in an oven.

He hoisted Lexie in his arms, but then he didn't have a hand free to lead the horse.

However, the horse was standing right next to the stairway to the groom's quarters. Breathing a quick prayer that this would work, he slid Lexie's limp body onto the horse. He held her steady while he mounted a couple of stairs and threw his leg over Dover's back.

He steadied Lexie, and reached around her with both arms to grab two fistfuls of mane. He dug his heels into Dover's ribcage and shouted "Gee up!"

The gelding bolted, and Wil would have fallen backwards right over the tail if he hadn't had a white-knuckled grip on the grey mane. He shrieked in fear, and they barely made it the rest of the way to the door before one of the roof timbers fell in exactly where they had been.

He felt a blessed rush of cool air and saw a lot of flashing lights, and then Miss Lovelock caught the tall grey and led him away from the doorway. Lucas, Fiona, and Mavis came running up, and Wil eased the unconscious Lexie down into her father's arms. Lucas took off running with Lexie toward the ambulance, Fiona following close behind, and then Mavis caught Wil as he slipped from Dover's back in a dead faint.


	24. Swift Justice

When Wil returned to consciousness, he was wrapped in a blanket and slumped on the sofa inside the house. He was sandwiched between Mavis and Mr. Lucas, who was holding a similarly-wrapped Lexie on his lap, rocking her gently back and forth. Wil found the secondhand motion rather soothing.

He started to ask about Lexie, but his throat was so raw—whether from smoke or screaming, he didn't know—that he couldn't make a sound.

"Oh, Mrs. Humphries, he's awake now!" Mavis called, and then his mother was there, beaming at him and pressing a cup of tea into his hand.

Wil took a sip, and the honey she'd used to sweeten it soothed his aching throat. "Thank you, Mother," he croaked.

He took Mavis's hand, laced his fingers through hers, and brought it to his lips. Then he shifted so he could see Lexie. "Will she be all right?" he asked Lucas.

Lucas nodded. "Thanks to you," he told Wil seriously. "Mr. Humphries—Claybourne—Wil—you saved my daughter's life. I won't ever forget that. Thank you."

Wil managed a quiet chuckle. "So I guess after that, you feel close enough of a friend to call me Wil?"

Lucas nodded. "And you've got your choice of R.J., James, or even Jamie, but if you call me Mr. Lucas ever again, I won't answer. You saved my Lexie. We're like family now."

Wil nodded. "I can live with that." With a glint in his eye, he added, " _Dick_."

Lucas laughed softly. "From you, I'll even accept that." He gave him a stern look and clarified, "Once."

Wil huffed a bit of a laugh and gathered Mavis into his arms. He smiled up at his mother. "Are you all right, Mother?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, dear, I'm fine. Mavis and I watered the other buildings so they wouldn't catch fire, and then the fire engines started showing up while you were in there getting Lexie."

"And Mr. Beck?"

"Oh, he's doing _very_ well," Mrs. Humphries replied with a look of satisfaction. "He discovered who started the fire, and he's, er, _detaining_ him outside until the police arrive."

Wil listened, and he heard an odd, thwacking noise coming from the stableyard, accompanied by some deep-voiced cries of pain. "What's that?" he asked, "What's going on?"

Mrs. Humphries smiled. "That's Mr. Beck, detaining the arsonist."

Captain Peacock came in just in time to hear her, and he gave a deep-voiced chuckle. "Yes, Mr. Beck discovered him, made him confess in front of witnesses, and is even now holding him until the police arrive to take him to jail."

"So what's that slapping sound?" Wil asked.

Mavis answered calmly, "That's Mr. Beck, givin' my dad the strap."

 _"What?!"_

Captain Peacock nodded. "Indeed. It seems that Mr. Moulterd was unhappy with our treatment of him, and decided to set fire to the stable in revenge. Mr. Beck is, er, speaking with him about what a bad idea that was."

"Really?" Wil was dumfounded. Someone was giving _Moulterd_ the strap?

"Couldn't happen to a more deserving bloke, you ask me," Lucas said.

Wil, remembering Mavis's torn-up back a few weeks ago, had to agree. "Remind me to stay on Mr. Beck's good side!"

"Oh, don't worry, Wilberforce," his mother comforted. "You will."

Wil slumped back down into the sofa after a few more minutes, to sip his tea and enjoy Mavis's petting his head and stroking his face and shoulders. It did feel _very_ nice, and he was absolutely knackered.

Eventually the police arrived, and there was some loud conversation outdoors (for which Captain Peacock went back outside), but even though he was curious, Wil was far too comfortable and exhausted to want to move. Rumbold came in after a while, followed by Peacock, Mrs. Slocombe, and Miss Lovelock.

"Is everyone all righ' out there?" Mavis asked.

"All except your dad," Mrs. Slocombe told her. "He might not be sittin' down for a while!"

"What abou' the horses?"

"They're all in the paddock," Miss Lovelock replied. "They should all be all right there, even Dover. Mr. Humphries, thank you for saving my poor Dover!"

Wil absently waved away her thanks. "Think nothing of it," he said, his voice still hoarse from the smoke. "Lexie would never have forgiven me otherwise."

Mr. Beck came in at that point, dusting off his hands and seemingly invigorated by the evening's events. "Now then!" he exclaimed, his manner almost boisterous. "Nothin' like a bit of excitement and exercise to wear a man out! I'm for my bed. Good night, you lot!" And he made his way up the stairs, whistling cheerfully.

One by one, the others each broke away and headed up to bed, but Wil didn't think he could move.

Lucas stood up, hefting the sleeping Lexie in his arms. "I'll take this one up and tuck her in. Wil, you going to make it up there?"

"I'm not sure," Wil replied, attempting to stand. "Me knees've gone wobbly."

"I'll put her to bed and come back down and help," Lucas—no, Jamie—said. "Mavis can look after you till then."

"That's right, Mr. Lucas!" Mavis affirmed, putting her arm around Wil's waist to help him to the stairs.

Lucas stopped on the first step and glanced back at her. "Jamie, love. It's Jamie. You married my best friend, so that makes you family too."

Mavis beamed at him. "I'll see you in a minute, then, Jamie."

Once Lucas—no, Jamie!—had helped Wil up the stairs and bid them good night (with a wink), Mavis helped him get into bed. "Will you be wantin' a new pyjama top?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Too tired."

"But what if you get cold in the night?"

He gave her a faint smile. "Sleep close."

She grinned at him and agreed, and five minutes later they were both snuggled close together under the covers, facing each other. Wil pressed a kiss to her forehead and closed his eyes. "Love you," he breathed, and was asleep in the next half-second.

Mavis placed a gentle kiss on his unresponsive lips, and then she dropped off as well. It had been a long, eventful day.

* * *

 _Note: Please review and let me know how I'm doing!_


	25. Morning After

The next morning, Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock were the first ones downstairs. Mrs. Slocombe saw him standing in front of the table in the sitting room, that held the Humphries wedding gifts. Torn bits of paper and ribbon were scattered about, littering the table and the floor.

"Oh, what's happened to the wedding presents?" she cried out in dismay, hurrying over to the mess.

"It would appear that they've been vandalized," Peacock announced, frowning.

"Who would do that?"

"I'm not positive, but if I were to venture a guess, I would theorize that it was someone who objected to Mr. Humphries' marriage to Mavis, and who mysteriously showed up here late last night for no good reason."

"That awful, disgusting man, you mean?"

"Moulterd? I hadn't meant him, although that is always a possibility. No, I was referring to the Heathcliffe boy."

"Oh, how horrible! And they hadn't even opened them yet! Do you think we might put things back together?" she asked.

Peacock shook his head no. "I think we ought to leave things exactly as they are, so that we may confront Malcolm with it after breakfast. I told him to present himself to us here to deliver a thorough explanation, or we'd have him hauled away by the police."

"Oh, well, we'll deal with it then," Mrs. Slocombe responded. "Whose turn is it to do breakfast today?"

"I believe it is Mr. Humphries' turn today... however, I think we may excuse him just this once," Peacock added with a smirk.

Mrs. Slocombe made doe-eyes at him, and they both chuckled.

"Could you believe it, the way he ran into that burning barn last night!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know he had it in him!"

Peacock chuffed. "I couldn't believe he got _married_ yesterday! I could more easily envision him running into a burning building than marry a woman!"

"Well, Mavis is obviously a very special girl," Mrs. Slocombe replied. "Come on, why don't you and I get breakfast started, and let the newlyweds sleep in if they've a mind to. Mr. Hunphries has certainly earned a rest after what he did last night!"

"Are you speaking of the fire, or..?" Peacock asked.

Mrs. Slocombe swatted at him. "Stephen! Don't be naughty! After all, he is our friend!"

"Quite right. I apologize," Peacock said with dignity.

"Mind you... there may have been more than one sort of fire," Mrs. Slocombe said slyly. Captain Peacock smirked, and they set about breakfast.

Upstairs, Wil woke before Mavis for a change. He lay on his side,leaning on one elbow, watching her.

He couldn't stop marveling at this girl. Anyone else looking at him would see little more than an aging, worn-out poof (retired). He'd tried nearly everything with nearly everyone who fancied him, but had long since thought himself too old to try anything with anyone anymore.

Mavis, however, looked at him and saw a handsome, eligible bachelor, albeit with a bit of a checkered past. He had no idea how he could possibly deserve to spend the rest of his life with this gorgeous blonde who beguiled him with her sweetness and loved him fiercely without wanting to change him a single jot.

He got up and went into the en-suite, deciding to brush his teeth and shower off last night's soot while he was in there. The shower was bracing and chilly, and he was glad enough to dry himself and crawl back into bed with his nice, warm wife.

Wife. It sounded so strange in his head. He never thought he'd ever marry, and now he had a wife. A wife. He, Wilberforce Humphries, had become a husband yesterday.

The mind boggled.

Mavis stirred in her sleep and turned towards him. He leaned over and placed a series of tiny, butterfly kisses on her forehead, temple, cheeks, nose, chin. He finally reached her mouth and gave her a tender, lingering kiss on her lips. She started to respond, and her eyes slowly blinked open.

"Wil," she breathed happily, sliding her arms around him and holding him close.

"Good morning," he greeted, and then added, "Mrs. Humphries."

"Oh, don't that soun' odd!" she giggled, smooching him on the cheek. "Now you stay right there while I run to the loo. Then I'll come back and give you a proper kiss good morning!" She rolled out of bed and went into the en-suite.

"You know, I wouldn't mind an improper one, either," he called after her.

Mavis squealed, and he giggled at his own audacity.

She returned a scant few minutes later, and slid back into bed, smelling of toothpaste. "Now let's see about that kiss," she said playfully, as she melted into his arms.

Over the course of the next little while, Wil once again lost track of his hands, his mouth, and various other body parts, and didn't come back to himself until they had completed some very interesting activities while his brain was disengaged.

"How—how do you do that?" he asked, panting.

Mavis gave him a lazy smile, her face glistening with perspiration. "I don't think I do," she told him. "I think it's all you!"

"Yes, but I can't seem to control myself!" Wil said, his voice going high with amazement.

Mavis giggled. "I don't mind," she assured him, snuggling close with her head on his shoulder. "I'm the one person in the world it's safe to lose control with. I love you and I'd never 'urt you, and I trust you to love me and never 'urt me. We're safe wi' each other.

"And plus," she added, kissing his bare shoulder. "I like it when you lose control!"

Wil lifted her chin and kissed her. "I trust you," he said simply. He kissed her again. "And I love you." He went to kiss her again, but feinted right, and nipped her ear instead. "And I'm absolutely ravenous!"

"Well, you did work up a bit of an appetite," Mavis teased. "Oops, I just remembered—it's your turn to cook breakfast!"

"Well, they'll be waiting a long time if they expect me to cook it for 'em today!" Wil asserted. "Still, I am hungry."

"I s'pose we'd better go down, then," Mavis said, a little sadly.

Wil's eyebrows shot up in amused titillation. "Well, if you insist..."

* * *

 _[Well, my goodness, isn't Wil a naughty one this morning! Hope you're enjoying the story so far, and don't forget to review!]_


	26. The Problem of Malcolm

It was much longer before the newlyweds appeared for breakfast, looking flushed and smug. "Good morning!" Wil greeted everyone.

"Good _afternoon_ , Mr. Humphries," Captain Peacock replied in his deep, stern voice.

"It's not that late, surely?" Mavis asked, worried.

"No, he's just winding you both up," Lucas replied. "Come and sit down. We've some things to talk over while you two eat."

"Oh, what's happened?" Wil asked, serving himself a large portion of egg scramble and three slices of toast, before passing the dish to Mavis. She scraped the bowl clean and took all of the remaining slices of toast.

He overheard Miss Brahms mutter to Mrs. Slocombe, "If those two are gonna be workin' up an appetite like that every night, we're gonna need more hens!"

He shot her a quick, flirtatious eyebrow-twitch, which set them both to laughing behind their hands. Then he addressed his attention to his breakfast, and to Peacock, Lucas, and Rumbold, in equal measure.

"Young Malcolm Heathcliffe was here last night," Peacock informed him.

Wil nodded. "I remember. He doused me before I went into the stable after Lexie. But what was he doing here in the first place?"

Rumbold took off his glasses. "It would appear that he was, er, vandalizing the, er, wedding presents."

Mavis gasped.

"He did what?" Wil exclaimed angrily, his voice rising into a squeak.

Peacock held up a placating hand. "We've taken a cursory glance, and nothing appears to be seriously damaged. Just mostly unwrapped and things tossed about a little."

"He must have snuck in the front door while we were all running about fighting the fire," Lucas—Jamie—speculated.

"And then heard all the commotion and stuck his head round the corner," Wil finished.

"Which was when I spotted him and pressed him into service in the bucket line," Peacock surmised.

"Cor! You don't think 'e set the fire, do you?" Miss Brahms asked.

"No," Mavis and Captain Peacock said together.

"'E wouldn't do that. He's jealous, but not gen'rally destructive," Mavis clarified.

"In addition, Moulterd has already confessed to setting the fire," Rumbold said. He gestured to Mr. Beck, who was stoically sipping coffee and not speaking. "Mr. Beck found him behind the stable, sooty and smelling of kerosene and scrumpie."

"But why would _Dad_ fire the stable?" Mavis asked.

"I assume he was drunk and wanted to do us harm and cost us money," Peacock said. "Aside from the house, the horses are the most valuable asset we have. I suppose we should be glad he didn't try to fire the house as well!"

"Wait a minute," Wil said. "Where's Malcolm now? It seems a bit far-fetched that he and Mr. Moulterd came up separately on the same night, to perform two different sorts of mischief."

"It does stretch credulity a tad," Peacock admitted.

"Also, the last time I saw 'em was right after your engagement and wedding date was announced," Jamie Lucas said. "They were sitting in the pub, off in a corner with their heads together over something."

"Bet they was plannin' it then," Miss Brahms said.

"Well, we shall know shortly, as Malcolm should be arriving here any minute," Peacock said, checking his watch.

"Why's that, Peacock?" Rumbold asked.

"Because I let him go home last night after the fire was out, on the condition that he be back here at 11:00 to explain himself, and if he didn't, I would have the law on him for arson."

Right on cue, there was a knock on the back door. It was Malcolm. Mavis answered it, giving him a sharp look as she did so.

He touched his cap to her and looked away, shamefaced. She went and sat down next to Wil, who took her hand and held it on top of the table with a pointed look at Malcolm.

Everyone was there, gathered around the kitchen table, which was too small for such a gathering. Jamie and Mr. Beck went and got some extra chairs from the sitting room and brought them in, and Lexie trotted over and climbed confidently onto Wil's lap. He was surprised, but pleased; he put his arms around her and held her steady.

"How did you know to blindfold Dover?" she asked him in a loud, child's whisper.

"I read _Black Beauty_ as a child," he whispered back. "Have you read it yet?"

She shook her head.

"You'll like it," he promised. "Now, shush, and let's listen."

"Come over here, Malcolm," Peacock directed. Let's hear your account of last night."

Malcolm stood awkwardly at the end of the table, his gaze darting nervously around the room. It came to rest on a tape recorder in front of Mr. Rumbold, and he gulped.

Rumbold and Peacock started to speak at once, and Peacock ducked his head deferentially. "With your permission, sir?"

Rumbold waved for him to go on.

"Now, then, Mr. Heathcliffe—as you can see, we'll be recording your account, which you should treat as if it's admissible in court, and tell the truth, the whole truth, _et cetera._ Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir," Malcolm said, sounding very subdued.

Peacock nodded to Rumbold, who pressed the record button. Peacock announced, "This is the statement of Malcolm Heathcliffe, given this 13th day of October, 1993. Those present are as follows: Captain Stephen Peacock..." he gestured to Mr. Rumbold, who announced his name.

"Cuthbert Rumbold."

He gestured, and one by one, everyone in the room announced their names.

"R. James Lucas."

"Fiona Rowe."

"Jessica Lovelock."

"Anne Humphries."

"Morgan Beck."

"Shirley Brahms."

"Elizabeth Slocombe."

"Wilberforce Humphries."

"Lexie Lucas!"

"Mavis Moulterd, er, I mean Humphries!"

And after a pause, "Malcolm Heathcliffe."

Malcolm began talking, detailing his anger when the Humphries engagement had been announced. His discontent has resonated with old Moulterd's, and the two of them had plotted together to come up on the night of the wedding and get back at everyone.

"I didn't know what Mr. Moulterd was going to do," he pleaded."If I'd known, I wouldn't have come. I would've tried to stop it. I didn't want anyone in danger, especially not the little girl!"

"We're getting ahead of ourselves here," Rumbold intervened. "What, exactly, _did_ you come up here to do?"

Malcolm hung his head. "I didn't want to 'urt anyone, really. An' I didn't 'ave anything against everyone else. I just wanted to get back at Mavis and 'Umphries, over there. So I came up and I was just going to mess with their wedding presents a little. An' I wanted to get back the one from my dad."

"Why, what was it?" Wil asked.

"It were a blanket that me mother knitted for me, for my wedding present when I married Mavis like she wanted," Malcolm said, with a touch of defiance.

"I never _wanted_ t' marry you, Malcolm!" Mavis protested.

He shook his head. "I know that. I meant that my mother always wanted for us t' get married. She'd been good friends with your mum, back when they was both young."

"What's your mum's name, lad?" Beck asked.

"Diana Heathcliffe, sir," Malcolm replied, "but she's dead now. She died 10 years ago."

"Ah. Sorry, lad," Beck replied.

"Did you know 'er, sir?" Malcolm asked.

Beck nodded. "Aye, I think so, but that's for after we've finished here. So you wanted to steal back your mum's blanket?"

Malcolm nodded. He looked straight at Mavis. "I'm sorry, Mavis —"

Beck interrupted. "That's 'Mrs. Humphries' to you, lad," he ordered, shifting his considerable bulk to the edge of the chair, as if he were about to leap to his feet.

"— Mrs. Humphries," Malcolm continued through gritted teeth. "It's just that, it's the last thing I had from my mother, and I don't think my dad should've given it to you."

"Did you find it?" Wil asked.

"No. I 'eard the ruckus outside and went to see what was 'appenin', and then Captain Peacock shoved a bucket at me. Next thing I knew, li'le Miss Lucas was goin' in after the horse, and you was headin' in after _her_. Then the fire brigade showed up and I was sent home. And that's the whole story."

"Very well," Rumbold started to shut off the recording device.

"No, wait!" Malcolm stopped him. "There's somethin' I wanna say, and to go on record as sayin'."

"What is it?" Peacock asked.

Malcolm looked at Wil. "Mr. Humphries, I apologize for the way I treated you. I was jealous o' you and Mavis — Mrs. Humphries, that is — and I didn't think much o' you at the start. But after seeing you run into that burnin' stable after li'le Miss Lexie, when I could only stand there, frozen to the spot — well, I think Mavis got the better man after all."

"Thank you, Malcolm," Wil replied, touched.

"An' I apologize to Mav—to Mrs. Humphries as well—for the things I said, an' for givin' her a hard time, an' for what I did that made 'er go off me in the first place."

"And what was that?" Beck wanted to know.

Malcolm hesitated, staring at his shoes.

"'E hit me," Mavis confessed. "He wanted me to... do somethin'... and when I told him no, 'e smacked me in the face an' I fell down. That were over a year ago though."

"Right," Mr. Beck said. He rose swiftly, pausing only long enough to press "stop" on Rumbold's tape recorder on his way by. He strode over to Malcolm, grabbed him by the ear, and dragged him outside.

Those inside listened with wide eyes and open mouths, as they heard a couple of blows, some grunts of pain, and a growled threat. "Touch her ever again, and I'll 'ave you!"

Everyone's gaze swiveled to Wil's mother, who continued to placidly sip her tea. Noting their stares, she shrugged. "Mr. Beck has a strong sense of justice," she said.

"Swift, as well," Peacock remarked.

Beck came back in, dusting his hands and humming. "Ah, that's better. Any chance of another cuppa tea?"

Mavis shook off her shock and leaped to put the kettle on, staring at Beck.

He smiled at her. "He won't bother you again, m'dear," he assured her.

Malcolm came limping back in, with a split lip, a swollen eye, his hair mussed, and his clothes covered in dirt. "Right, so... well, sorry, everyone," he said awkwardly. He asked Rumbold and Peacock, "Are you still gonna 'ave the law on me?"

"Step outside, please, and wait for our decision," Peacock ordered him, and Malcolm ducked out gratefully.

"Well?" Peacock glanced around the room.

"'E's not a bad person," Mavis volunteered.

"He did apologize," Wil pointed out.

"He had nothing to do with the stable fire," Miss Lovelock ventured.

"And 'e did help fight it," Miss Brahms said.

"His dad's a decent sort. He can probably keep him in line, and it wouldn't hurt us any for Henry Heathcliffe to owe us a favor," Jamie said.

Rumbold sighed. "On the other hand, I feel compelled to point out that he has shown violence to one of our own, more than once, and that he _was_ in cahoots with Moulterd, and he _did_ vandalize all the wedding presents."

"Ah, but he won't be showin' any more vi'lence to the young lady after today," Beck assured them.

"I vote we give him a chance to redeem himself," Jamie recommended.

"Hands up for the redemption of Malcolm?" Peacock asked.

Almost everyone raised their hands. Peacock glanced questioningly at the rest. "Are we to understand that the rest of you are voting to involve the law?"

"Ach, no," Fiona told him. "I'm abstainin', is all. As long as oor Jamie is content, weel, it's none o' my business, is it?"

"That goes for me as well," Mrs. Humphries agreed. "As long as my Wilberforce and his Mavis are satisfied, so am I."

Captain Peacock smiled at Lexie, who was bouncing up and down on Wil's lap (giving him a pained expression) with her hand straight up in the air. "Yes, Miss Lucas? What is your opinion?"

" _I_ don't like that he messed up those presents," she said. "I think you should call a policeman to come and make him set them all to rights!"

"Oh, aren't you a love!" Mavis exclaimed, giving the girl a spontaneous hug.

"That's a very good idea, Lexie," Wil applauded. "But I think it would be better if we just made him do it, ourselves."

"Call him in and _I'll_ ask him," she directed. "He wouldn't dare say no to _me_."

Wil met Jamie's gaze with amusement; he cut his eyes pointedly toward Mrs. Slocombe and then back to Lexie. Jamie rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Och, doesn't she sound just like oor Rose, Jamie!" her aunt Fiona laughed.

Wil grinned. "Does she? You mean your wife talked like that?" he asked, with another quick glance at Mrs. Slocombe.

Jamie hung his head and nodded.

"I don't see anything wrong with that!" Mrs. Slocombe declared. "A girl needs to be assertive from time to time!"

"And it seems that our Mr. Lucas likes that quality in a woman," Wil teased, casting his eyes in Mrs. Slocombe's direction again.

Jamie glared.

Wil chuckled.

Peacock cleared his throat. "Be that as it may... we still have the Heathcliffe boy out there waiting. Shall we have him in and tell him?"

"I'll get him," Jamie said with some relief, as he went out the door.

Malcolm followed him back in, still looking nervous.

"Mr. Heathcliffe," Peacock began. "The two you have wronged the most have generously decided to forgive you and not get the law involved. However, we shall retain this taped copy of your confession, against any future mischief against us. Also, there is one of our number who feels an act of restitution is in order."

Malcolm's gaze darted to to Wil, to Mavis, and (nervously) to Mr. Beck, but it was Lexie who slid off Wil's lap and came forward.

"I think it was very mean of you to mess up the wedding presents, Malcolm," she stated. "Daddy says that since Mr. Humphries saved my life last night, that makes them like brothers. So that means it was _my_ uncle and aunt's wedding that you messed up."

She gave him a considering look, with a bit of a scowl, and then drew back her foot and kicked him in the shin. Hard.

Malcolm yelped and hopped, holding his leg and glaring at her.

She shook her finger at him. "Don't give me that look!" she scolded. "You deserved it! Now then, what you have to do is get back into that sitting room and fix up the presents you tore apart. Mr. Rumbold can find you some cello-tape, and then you can actually _earn_ Uncle Wil's and Aunt Mavis's forgiveness!"

Malcolm stood for a moment, visibly weighing his options. Then he sighed. "Right. Cello-tape, Mr. Rumbold?"

"I'll bring some right down," Rumbold promised, rising and heading up the stairs.

"Anyone else want a go at me while I'm 'ere?" Malcolm asked, with a mix of humor and belligerence. "Might as well get it all in one go." He looked at Wil. "You, Mr. Humphries? You've got a right to, more'n anyone."

Wil shook his head. "Are you serious? It was only luck I managed to thrash you that once. I mean, have you _seen_ yourself?"

Malcolm was startled into a chuckle, and he looked at Wil with respect in his eyes. "Can't deny I'd earned it," he said. He looked at Mavis. "I was out o' line. I'm sorry, Mav—Mrs. Humphries, I mean. And I'll fix up your presents best I can."

"Wait a mo'" Beck interrupted. He asked Wil, "Did you say _you'd_ thrashed this brute?"

"Well..." Wil started to answer, but Mavis interrupted him.

"He sure did, Mr. Beck! Malcolm smacked me at the pub, and my Wil rushed over and laid 'im out flat! 'Oo do you think you are,' Malcolm says, an' Wil says 'Wilberforce! Claybourne! 'Umphries!' an' he hit 'im once for every name, and the last one knocked him righ' out! Oh, it were beau'iful!" Mavis rhapsodized.

"Well, I'd got my dander up!" Wil defended, his voice going squeaky. "No one raises a hand to Mavis! Not while I'm around!"

Beck smiled at him, a full, broad smile that reached his sparkling blue eyes. "I'm proud o' ye, lad," he congratulated.

He glanced around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Mavis. "I s'pose now's as good a time as any."


	27. Unexpected Family

_Beck glanced around the room, his gaze coming to rest on Mavis. "I s'pose now's as good a time as any."_

"Time for what?" Mrs. Slocombe asked.

Mr. Beck leaned forward and asked Mavis, "Mavis, lass, tell me your mother's name?"

"Mary Moulterd," she said. "But I never knew 'er. She ran off with the blacksmith when I were a baby."

"Mary, nicknamed Molly, am I right?" Beck pressed.

"Yeah," Mavis replied. "How'd you know?"

"Molly Beck was her maiden name. She was my daughter," Beck said.

Mavis's mouth fell open. "Yes, that was 'er name!"

"She married that Moulterd fellow when she was well young for it, and he was unkind to her," Beck explained. "Then she ran off with the blacksmith in the next village, but he left her and she ended up coming home to me. Only thing is, I had to ship out a couple of weeks later, and I didn't see my little girl again. I only got a telegram later that she'd died.

"The thing is, m'dear," he told Mavis, "She never told me about you at all. I'd never have left you with Moulterd if I'd known." He stood up and approached her.

Mavis's eyes filled with tears. "So Mr. Beck, you're my..."

"I'm your grandfather, m'dear. And you're such a lass as would make any granddad proud."

Mavis threw herself at him with a sob, and he enfolded her tenderly in his massive arms.

Malcolm quietly left the room to go fix the presents. Fiona followed his example, collecting Lexie along the way.

"That would explain the beating he gave Moulterd last night," Peacock realized.

"He did?" Wil asked. He didn't remember much about last night.

Jamie nodded. "Strapped him with a leather saddle girth," he said with a smirk.

Wil's eyes went wide in shock.

"Not the padded one," Lucas clarified in a tone of great satisfaction. "The double-thick leather one. With the buckles at both ends. He strapped him good and proper, buckles and all!"

Wil winced. That had to hurt! Still, if anyone had earned a thorough strapping from his father-in-law, it was definitely Maurice Moulterd. Remembering how torn up and bruised Mavis's back and legs had been—and keeping in mind that Moulterd had done that to her frequently for most of her life—he couldn't bring himself to feel any pity for the man.

"You know, I'm really glad to hear it!" he told Lucas, who nodded once in decisive agreement.

Wil's gaze drifted over to where Mavis was still hugging her grandfather, weeping. Wil got a lump in his throat, but smiled at the sight. His mother came over and hugged him. Her eyes were moist, as were those of everyone else in the room. "And how long have you known this, Mother?" he asked, gesturing to the pair.

"Since our first night here, but Morgan asked me not to tell anyone yet," she said. "He wanted to make sure she was in good hands first, he said."

Mavis raised her head with a beaming smile, and tears rolling down her face. "An' after las' night I thought I didn't have any family of my own at all!" she rejoiced. She stood on her toes and gave Beck a big kiss on the cheek.

"What d'you mean, dear?" Wil asked. "Didn't I become your family yesterday?"

"Oh, I didn't mean that, Wil. It's just that—well, what me dad said—" She looked away, her mouth working as she tried not to cry.

Beck explained. "When I found him trying to slink away, and realized that he'd likely been the one to set the stable fire, Mavis confronted him. He disowned her. Said if she was going to take the side o' the ones what sacked him and turned him from his home, she wasn't his daughter anymore."

Wil's heart broke for her. "Oh, love," he said, going to her and putting his arm around her. She turned and buried her face in his shoulder, and he stroked her hair. He asked Beck, "Was that when you..."

"Picked up the girth, aye," he confirmed. "Mr. Lucas and Mr. Rumbold held him down while Captain Peacock phoned the police, and I gave him a strappin' he won't soon forget. He's a lot to make up for, that one!"

"Oh, we know!" Mrs. Slocombe nodded.

"Yeah," Miss Brahms said. "In addition to abusin' Mavis all the time, he was downright beastly to Mrs. Slocombe! It wasn't just the awful things he said, it was the way 'e treated 'er! Pushin' her around, always grabbin' at 'er an' touchin' her an' sayin' nasty things to 'er. An' gossippin'! 'E nearly ruined 'er reputation in the village!"

Beck shook his head grimly. "I can't abide them what's disrespectful to a lady," he growled. "I should've strapped him for longer, Mrs. Slocombe. I didn't know, you see," he apologized.

"Oh, not at all, Mr. Beck," she said graciously. "Just as long as he can't hurt our Mavis anymore."

Mavis, still buried in Wil's shoulder, reached out blindly and grasped Mrs. Slocombe's hand.

Mrs. Slocombe patted it. "There, there, dear. Your father is a fool if he doesn't realize what a treasure you are! I'm just glad our Mr. Humphries finally realized it!"

"Hear, hear," Wil agreed, as Mavis finally disengaged from him. He dried her eyes for her, smoothed her hair back, and then cupped her face in his hands and gave her a brief, tender kiss. "All right?" he asked her softly.

She nodded.

"Good." Wil passed her off to his mother, who cooed and gushed and told her she could call her "Mother" if she wanted, and how happy she was to finally have a daughter.

Mavis laughed and cried and hugged and kissed her. Then she went and hugged Mrs. Slocombe, and kissed the older lady on her powdered cheek. "Thank you for everything, Mrs. Slocombe!"

Mrs. Slocombe patted her back fondly. "Not at all, dear. Now, shouldn't you and your new husband go open your gifts?"

"Oh, right!" Mavis grabbed Wil's hand and dragged him eagerly into the sitting room. "Can't wait to see what we got!"


	28. Gifts

Malcolm had just about finished taping up the gifts he'd torn open, so he stepped aside deferentially. "Think I've patched 'em all up," he said. "Uh, sorry, again."

Wil silently offered his hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Malcolm took and shook it. No one told him to leave, so he repaired to a corner of the room and stayed to watch.

Mavis and Wil opened everything, graciously ignoring the slight damage to some of the items. Mother Humphries had made them an entire new set of bedroom linens, even down to the curtains. They had a new set of sheets and towels, and a new pair of dressing gowns—

"Oh, this is perfect!" Wil crowed, leaping to his feet to model it. "My old one didn't really survive being bound to the head of a terrified horse and ridden through a raging fire last night. Even if I could get out the smell of the smoke, I'd never get out the smell of the horse!"

"And look, they match!" Mavis giggled, as she stood up to model her own—both in pale pink with maroon pinstripes and trim.

One of the last gifts they picked up was a large, squishy one from the bottom of the pile, labeled "From the Heathcliffes." Wil and Mavis shared a quick glance of agreement, and then Mavis opened it. The knitted blanket was beautiful, a very complicated pattern of pineapples and flowers, done in a baby-soft variegated yarn the color of storm clouds. It was clear that a lot of time and love had gone into the making of it.

"Malcolm?" Mavis called. She and Wil stood up, holding the blanket. "Come 'ere please."

Malcolm came over, his eyes fixed on the blanket and his expression somber.

They handed him the blanket. "We'd both like you to 'ave this," Mavis said. "Please thank your father for thinking of us, but this ought to be yours to share with the woman you _do_ marry." She fixed him with a stern look. "Just you mend your ways an' control your temper, or you'll never find any decent girl who'll 'ave you!"

He gave her a sheepish grin. "Yes, Mavis. Thanks for this," he said, holding up the blanket.

"All right, all right, now, off you go," Wil told him with raised eyebrow, looking the picture of dignity in his pink dressing gown. "The rest of us have a lot of work to do."

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned to go, but then turned back. "I could—I mean, I'd be willin' to help. You know, with the cleanup from the fire. Or even the farm chores. I don't mind."

"Thank you, Malcolm. We'll call you," Rumbold told him firmly.

Malcolm gave them all an awkward, self-conscious little wave and headed out, clutching his blanket.

Mr. Beck summed up everyone's thoughts: "I think that boy _may_ turn out all right after all."


	29. The First Few Days

In the days after their wedding, Wil was finding that it was a completely different prospect being married than being just friends who happened to bunk up together. Their first few times being together were wonderful. Making love with Mavis was like nothing he'd ever experienced before—it really did make a big difference when you loved and were married to the person you slept with! He found himself craving her, going out of his way to spend time with her, watching her when she wasn't looking, and getting embarrassed when she looked up and caught him at it. He felt like a schoolboy with a crush! Which was ridiculous, he told himself firmly, because he knew she loved him, and he was already married to her! He also found (to his chagrin) that he was self-conscious about his aging body—especially contrasted with Mavis's firm, smooth, 24-year-old one. He knew he was still in pretty good nick for his age, but his age was more than twice hers, and it definitely showed.

Mavis had vowed never to push him into anything, and his self-consciousness held him back when he wanted to move forward. They ended up at an impasse sometimes. He also wasn't used to physical affection yet. Sometimes when her hands wandered, or she surprised him with a kiss, he stiffened up and backed away. She would apologize for being "pushy," and withdraw completely. For his part, he kept on stifling his urge to initiate their lovemaking, no matter how much he wanted to, because of his self-consciousness about his body.

And he did want to. It was like a dam had burst—all those years of celibacy, and his newfound love for her, combined to make him positively hunger for her. She was almost like an obsession; he thought about her all the time, but was still too embarrassed to act on those thoughts. The last time he had been "active" had been years and years ago, and it had been nothing like this. _None_ of his previous experiences had been anything like this! Getting lost in Mavis, with her taste on his tongue, her scent in his nostrils, and her silken skin under his hands, was new and utterly addictive.

It was getting to that point that was the difficulty. He had no problems with the execution, only with the approach.

It was starting to become a problem, and Will didn't want any problems between then. He had no idea how to address it, though. Each time he opened his mouth to speak of the issue, he'd close it again, awkwardly, and silently hope it would work itself out.

Mavis, with her usual innocent candor, faced the issue head-on. She had been putting clean sheets on their bed when he came upstairs to change into his work clothes, and she met him at the bedroom door with a kiss and a quick hug. She dropped her hand and gave his bum a quick squeeze, which made him squeak and back away quickly. Silently she watched him collect up his denims, work shirt, and the new canvas waistcoat he'd got for farm work, and take them into the en-suite to change.

He was just in the middle of buttoning his waistcoat when he heard her knock on the door. "Mr. 'Umphries! Will you be wanting the bed to yourself tonight?"

He threw open the door and stared at her in consternation. "What? No, why—what—what would make you think that? And why are you calling me 'Mr. Humphries,' again, _Mrs. Humphries_?"

She nodded at his other clothes on the floor. "Well, it seemed for a moment as if you'd forgotten we were married, and we've already seen each other with no clothes on. You don't have to run away and change clothes behind a closed door no more!"

She dropped her gaze. "An' then I was wonderin' if I'd gone and been too pushy again, an' if you'd want me to sleep somewhere's else for a while." She turned away and busied herself pulling up the blankets and smoothing the corners of the bed. "I'm sorry for touchin' you when you don't wanna be touched. An' you don't 'ave to change in front of me if you want privacy." She darted a quick, miserable took at him, and then started briskly plumping the pillows.

"Oh, Mavis," he said, his heart breaking. He went to her quickly, and took both of her hands in his, turning her to face him. "It's not that I don't like the touching," he tried to explain. "It's just that I'm not used to it. And also...er, I guess I'm a bit shy."

"Shy? Why?"

"Well, it's like I told you before. You're very young! And you're beautiful! And I'm more than twice your age. My hair's been grey for ever so long, but now I'm starting to get wrinkles. You sit on my lap, and all the rest of me loves that, but my 50-something legs can't hold up to much of it. And I want to be the man you can be proud of, and lean on, but if you lean too hard I might fall over! It's made me a little, uh, self-conscious, I guess you could say."

"I guess I understand," she said. "But when I touch you, like I did just now, you often flinch and shy away. So I know you sometimes like bein' touched and sometimes don't, but I don't know when those times are! I don't wanna push you, like I said, only I don't know when I'm pushing and when it's okay, until after you back off. It's confusin'."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," he said, remorseful. "I don't mean to be confusing. And I promise you, I like it every time you touch me. Like I said, it's just that I'm not used to it. Being touched—and kissed—by someone who loves me, and who isn't trying to take advantage of me—it's all new. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not a very big man."

"I've noticed. We're the exact same height!" she grinned. "Makes for very convenient kissin', if you ask me!"

"Well, other people larger than me have found in the past that it makes for very convenient _other_ things, too," he said. "So I'm not used to being touched by someone whose hands are actually welcome. Promise me you won't stop touching me, even if it takes me some time to get used to it?" he begged, his eyes searching hers, trying to convince her of his sincerity.

"But you get all stiff and uncomfortable every time I do," she argued.

"I do get stiff, but not uncomfortable," he explained.

His eyes met hers just as he heard the words leave his mouth, and an instant later they were both giggling.

"Well, I'm glad to 'ear it's not uncomfortable!" she said through her giggles.

Wil opened his mouth to reply, and then closed it again. Then he did it again. Finally he said, "There's no response I can make to that, that isn't completely filthy!" he said, still chuckling. "Except this one." He pulled her close, and kissed her. He kissed her slowly, with a breathtaking thoroughness, in a leisurely way as if he had nothing to do but spend the whole day with his mouth fused to hers. When he finally ended the kiss, and their eyes met again, there was no laughing. "Promise me you won't stop touching me? Even if I shy away at first?"

"I promise. But you 'ave to promise me that if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, and I'll stop right away."

"I promise—but if I don't say anything, then don't stop. All right?"

"It's a deal."

He got a twinkle in his eye. "Shall we seal it with another kiss?"

 _She_ kissed _him_ this time, and it was not slow or leisurely. It was, extremely thorough, however. At the end of it Wil's legs felt wobbly and he had to sit down on the edge of the bed. Mavis started to sit next to him, but he tugged her down onto his lap instead.

"But I thought you said your legs were too old for this?"

He smiled. "I may have legs in their 50s, but for the sake of a beautiful wife in her 20s I'm sure they're up to the task." He gave her a flirtatious eyebrow-twitch.

She leaned close and whispered, "I 'ope you'll let me know if anything else is, too."

His eyes went wide and he pursed his lips in a moue of shock. "Why, Mrs. Humphries, what kind of talk is that?" he flirted.

"Oh, you want me to spell it out, then?" she asked, eyes dancing.

"No!" he exclaimed in alarm. "I think I get the general gist!"

"Well, actions speak louder than words, anyway," she said, and turned so she was straddling his lap. She started undoing his shirt-buttons. As soon as he was shirtless, she pushed him gently down on to the bed, and proceeded to strip him down to his skin in a very methodical manner.

She was still dressed, and he was completely bare. He reached for the blanket, to cover himself with, but she sat down on it. "Oh, no, you don't," she said. "You've already seen me, but now it's my turn to 'ave a good look at you!"

Wil discovered to his delight that she was one of those people who looked with her hands. By the time she'd finished her (thorough!) perusal of his body, he was gasping and reaching for the buttons on her dress.

After they were finished, she studied him from top to toe, and for once, Wil didn't mind a bit. He even stretched a little, to show off.

"Now, then, don't let me hear you complainin' about your 50-year-old body again," she scolded him. "Or I shall 'ave to take 'arsher measures! You don't hear _me_ complainin' about your body, do you?"

Unable to speak, he shook his head.

"I should 'ope not, 'cause it's very 'andsome an' I love it. I love all o' you, Wilberforce 'Umphries."

He summoned enough energy to kiss her tenderly, and then fell back, still breathless.

"Wha' about mine, then?" she asked shyly. "Is it... all right?"

He huffed a laugh. This magnificent young goddess was insecure about _her_ body? He brought her hand to his lips with a fond smile. "It's not just 'all right," he said. "Ancient Greeks would have battled to the death for the right to sculpt you in marble. You have the loveliest figure and the most beautiful face I've ever seen."

His reward was another breathless kiss, and he fell into a light doze, completely happy.

That is, until Captain Peacock rapped on the door and called, "Mr. Humphries! We're all waiting for you! I thought you just needed to change!"

"Oh, blimey!" he squeaked, and leaped to his feet. "I'll be right out, Captain Peacock!" He threw his clothes back on, pressed a quick kiss to Mavis's mouth, and headed out the door.

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Yes, even very well-matched couples can sometimes have misunderstandings in the early days of a marriage. Best way to handle them is with open communication. "Happily ever after" endings are never the endings; they're just the beginning of a new chapter in a new book.]_


	30. Discarding Bad Advice

The insurance man had come and gone, and left the Manor a fat check. It would not only rebuild the stable, but would take care of one or two other repairs as well. Now there was just the cleanup, and for that, Malcolm was as good as his word. He was up after breakfast almost every day, working with Jory, and sometimes bringing along his father or some other lads from the village, to help. Slowly, the charred old structure came down, the recyclable wood got sorted and set aside, and the site got cleaned up.

Fiona, Mother Humphries, and Mr. Beck had all gone home, but suddenly, new faces started showing up. From Dorset, London, Manchester, all over the west country, well-dressed ladies and gentlemen with cameras started driving up to interview them, and to photograph the damage and their cleanup efforts.

Captain Peacock set them all to work. When they protested, he informed them that active involvement would increase their readership, and it turned out to be true. Plus, as he said, they didn't have the time to stop working and give interviews; they'd only give interviews if the reporters worked alongside them.

It turned out the BBC News network had picked up the story and bought all of the still photos and film footage of the fire, that Mr. Maxwell had taken. The story had aired all over the country, in conjunction with news of Mr. Moulterd's trial. Wil and Mavis's wedding was also, by connection, big news.

Headlines such as "Newlyweds have Fiery Wedding Night," and "May-December Farm Romance Goes Up in Flames."

Wil snickered at the first one over the breakfast table, but got irate over the second one. "I'm hardly a 'December' yet! Surely it's more of a May- _October_ romance?!" He gave Captain Peacock a sidelong glance. "Especially when the other romance in our midst is more like a March-December one?"

Peacock gave a smug chuckle, as the others had just discovered that Miss Lovelock had been sleeping with him since the night of the fire when her quarters had gone up with the rest of the stable.

With all the extra publicity, their bookings skyrocketed. Not only did every single reporter and photographer who covered the story come and stay at the Manor, but tourists from all over the nation started making arrangements for their summer holidays there.

As the cold set in, they boarded the horses at Sir Robert's, and worked every day at the cleanup and renovations. Winter was their off-season, so they had very few guests. With Lucas's investment, they were able to replace the old wood-fired boiler with an electric one, and re-wire much of the ancient, faulty electrical system. Their workdays were hard, but short, as it got dark so early. Several nights of the week, the Manor crew could be found down the pub, playing darts and mingling with the villagers—many of whom had come up to help in the aftermath of the fire. Relations with the village had never been better, especially since they had put Great Tender on the map and the tourist trade was picking up.

With so many people milling around all the time, and so much to be done, Wil and Mavis were having a hard time finding time to be alone together. There were always people around, and any time they tried to sneak a little kiss in the corner, someone invariably walked in on them. At night, they felt constrained by how sounds carried all through the servants' quarters. Wil was getting tired of the sly looks and impertinent comments over the breakfast table, and Mavis was terribly embarrassed. Something had to change soon.

The farm was busy, though: so busy that the whole crew often had to split up—a few staying on the farm to handle chores, while the others went to the village for supplies.

On one such day, Wil and Mavis and Mrs. Slocombe had stayed behind to finish feeding the stock, while the others took the big cart into town to buy building supplies.

Mrs. Slocombe took charge, and assigned Wil to feed the stock. She sent Mavis to collect the eggs and milk the cows. Wil fed the goat first, then the sheep, and ended up in the cow byre last, so he could keep Mavis company while she did the milking. He was thinking about doing it himself so Mavis wouldn't have to do it, when it started raining.

Mavis ducked into the byre with a couple of buckets, laughing and shaking the rain off her coat. "Whew, it's really coming down!" she said with a grin. "I don't pity t' others, 'avin' to ride 'ome in that cart!"

"I doubt they will. If they've an ounce of sense, they'll wait till it's over," Wil said. "Here, I'll milk Betsy and you can take care of Bella. It will go faster with both of us."

Before long, both cows were milked, everyone was fed, and the rain was still pouring down. Mavis and Wil stood in the doorway, watching the courtyard fill up with dimpled puddles. "Want to make a run for it?" he asked.

"Or we could just wait till it's over," she said. "Otherwise the milk'd get watered down and we'd probably spill half of it if we run wi' it. If you ask me, we ought to just stay 'ere till it passes."

Wil nodded. He sat down on a bale of hay and looked up at her with a bland expression. "Whatever shall we do to pass the time until then?"

"Well," Mavis said, sinking down beside him on the hay; he shifted over a little, to make room. "My dad always said there's always work to be done, if you look hard enough."

"Hmm. Did your dad ever have any _other_ terrible advice to impart?"

Mavis clasped her hands and glanced upwards with an angelic expression. "'E said never t' get involved with anyone above my station, never to get tangled up wit' an older man, an' never to go up to the 'ayloft with a boy."

Wil glanced up and realized that Mavis wasn't looking heavenward with that pious expression—she was looking up at the hayloft!

She glanced at him with mischief in her eyes. "Want to bung out all o' Dad's advice at once? I'll race you up there!" she challenged.

She was already halfway up the ladder by the time he'd reached the bottom of it. He glanced up to say something, but stopped dead, transfixed.

Mavis still wore dresses most of the time. From the bottom of the ladder, he could look all the way up her skirt. He swallowed, and felt very warm all of a sudden. He could imagine his hands gliding up those long, strong legs, stroking over her shapely bottom... he loosened his collar and fanned his face with his hat.

Mavis reached the top and peeked over the edge at him, smiling. "Wil! You coming?"

"Very nearly," he muttered to himself, and stiffly climbed the ladder.


	31. Honeymoon

The rain finally stopped shortly before lunch, but the others hadn't yet returned. Mrs. Slocombe had been stuck in the house all morning, and had made the three of them a nice lunch. "You two must have had a busy morning," she said cheerfully, pouring out tea for everyone. "I've not seen you since breakfast!"

They exchanged glances and tried not to blush. "We got caught in the byre when it started rainin'," Mavis offered.

"And decided to wait out the storm, so as not to dilute the milk," Wil added.

Mrs. Slocombe's eyebrows went up. "So I see," she said, reaching across the table to flick a bit of chaff from his shirt-cuff.

"Ah," was all Wil could say.

Mrs. Slocombe gave Mavis a quick once-over, and then tugged a few bits of straw from her hair. Wil swore silently—he must have missed those!

"Um," Mavis said, blushing bright red.

Mrs. Slocombe tsked, and gave her shoulder a comforting pat. "How they expect a couple of newlyweds to start out their marriage properly, when it's nothing but work from sunrise to sunset, with no time to themselves and very little privacy, I have no idea. I shall really have to speak to Mr. Rumbold and Captain Peacock about sending you two on a proper honeymoon!"

Wil's face lit up. "That would be wonderful, Mrs. Slocombe."

She reached over and patted his wrist. "You think about where you'd like to go. Come up with a few destinations by supper, and I'll see what I can do for you."

Mavis leaned over and gave her a hug around the shoulders. "We don't mean t' impose on everyone," she said. "But it's like you said. We do get time together, but we're always workin', or we've got everyone else right there, or both. An' I'd hate to make people uncomfortable... if you see what I mean?"

"Of course, dear. The two of you have been quite circumspect, but I wouldn't want it to be to the detriment of your marriage. I'll talk to the others on your behalf this evening. Eat up, now. You need your strength!"

That night, after Mavis and Wil had gone up to their room, Mrs. Slocombe brought the subject up to Captain Peacock and Mr. Lucas. She thought about including Mr. Rumbold, but he was becoming increasingly more irrelevant, so she decided to just do without him until they needed him later.

The three of them had been talking about the increased income at the Manor, with much more to come that summer.

"Wouldn't Mr. Moulterd be disappointed to learn that his bit of arson, rather than costing us the Manor, has actually boosted our fortunes by a large margin!" Peacock said with satisfaction. "I only wish I could be the one to tell him. Perhaps I'll write him a letter... on the Millstone Manor stationery, of course."

"He'd blow his top," Lucas agreed, grinning. "You write the letter, but I want to be there when he reads it!"

"If you ask me," Mrs. Slocombe began, "We ought to use some of the extra income to give Mr. and Mrs. Humphries a honeymoon. It's just too bad that they got married, and then we had the fire, and we've been too busy with repairs ever since then to be able to spare them!"

Lucas nodded. "Yeah, and you know what else is too bad? They can't find anywhere to be alone around here."

Captain Peacock snorted. "I know what you mean. One hesitates to walk into a room these days."

"Oh, I know!" Lucas agreed. "You walk into a room, the barn, the shed, round a corner, and there they are! In a clinch!"

Mrs. Slocombe smiled. "It really is very sweet that they're so affectionate. And honestly," she fixed them with a sharp look, "It could be so much worse! They've been fairly discreet so far; I've only walked in on them kissing. At least they're not—what would you call it?—"

"Having it off in the sitting room?" Lucas asked with a grin.

"Don't be vulgar, Mr. Lucas!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Slocombe. I didn't mean to offend."

"True, at least they're not doing that," Captain Peacock agreed. "That we know of," he added with an air of mischief to his dignified voice.

"Oh, God," Lucas muttered. "I'll never sit in those chairs again!"

"Well, look on the bright side," Mrs. Slocombe said with her usual dignity. "At least we don't have a sofa in there!"

Lucas and Peacock both burst out laughing, half in surprise at Mrs. Slocombe's even mentioning such an idea.

"No, I agree," Peacock said after a moment. "We ought to give them a honeymoon. Mrs. Slocombe, perhaps you and I can get together and go over the schedule, and see when we might best spare them? And for how long?"

"Of course, Captain Peacock. And the sooner, the better!" she added.

"Yeah," Lucas agreed. "And the longer, the better, too. Maybe they can get it all out of their systems before they come back!"

Mrs. Slocombe shook her head. "Who would have thought? Mr. Humphries, of all people?" She smiled. "To tell the truth, I don't even mind seeing them together, as long as they're, what do you call, _tasteful_. Even when I've interrupted them kissing sometimes, they've been the ones to apologize, and they've never made me feel like I was barging in...even when I was!" she added. "But I agree, they need some time to be alone, and to get to know each other as husband and wife. Close your mouth, Mr. Lucas, I didn't mean it like _that!_ "

Lucas closed his mouth on his interjection, and sighed. "You spoil all my fun, Mrs. Slocombe."

"But really, even including _that,_ " she went on. "I mean—they need more privacy. It's just not that nice for them up there, with all of us crammed into the servants' quarters together. Captain Peacock, perhaps we can see about getting them a larger room? After all, there are two of them."

"Indeed. Perhaps in a distant part of the house," Peacock agreed. "Don't forget, my room is closer than yours is."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd notice anything, what with your entertaining Miss Lovelock so often," Lucas said.

"That is none of your concern," Peacock scolded him.

"Hard to ignore, since the attic steps creak so much when she comes down to join you," Lucas grinned. "Mrs. Slocombe, perhaps you might see about moving Captain Peacock and Miss Lovelock to another part of the house, along with our newlyweds? Different parts, of course. Somewhere far, far away from Lexie's room. And mine too, for that matter!"

She rolled her eyes. "I shall see what arrangements might be made."

Mrs. Slocombe was as good as her word, and rearranged the bedroom arrangements. Captain Peacock got a larger room closer to the _other_ door of the attic. Wil and Mavis got one of the larger guest rooms, that was built for double occupancy. Lexie and Mr. Lucas were moved across the hall and down the other end of it from Captain Peacock's room, and Miss Brahms took Captain Peacock's old room that connected with Mrs. Slocombe's. Rumbold, whose room had originally been apart from the rest of them, meekly went into Wil and Mavis's old room. He didn't even argue about his "position" in the household. These days, everyone simply did what Mrs. Slocombe said.

After most of the winter work was done and there remained only the raising of the new stable, Wil and Mavis were sent—at the Manor's expense—on a 2-week honeymoon to Paris. It was early spring, and the flowers were beginning to bloom in France. It was the first time Mavis had been out of the West Country, much less outside the UK, and she soaked up every single minute of it with giddy excitement.

On their way back, they took another few days in London to visit Mother Humphries and Mr. Beck, and for Wil to show her around his old haunts—all the ones, that is, where she wouldn't be likely to meet any of his old hook-ups, or that he'd be embarrassed over. He even brought her by and showed her the old Grace Brothers building, and described some of their adventures there. "See, up there, fourth floor, third from the left? That was Mr. Rumbold's window, where the painters gave me a lift when I was running late. And Mrs. Slocombe and Captain Peacock went out there on the ledge with a rope, to spy on Mrs. Peacock who was having an affair with Mr. Rumbold, only she wasn't. And see, there, up near the roof? Where there's still a bit of paint? We'd gone up there to make a protest, and that's where Mrs. Slocombe had started to paint our protest slogan. But she got it upside down! And once Mr. Harman and I hung Captain Peacock out the window by his ankles, only it wasn't really him, it was a dummy, because the store was being robbed, and..."

Mavis loved it, loved seeing the big city, and loved seeing where he'd grown up and spent most of his adult life. She listened to all his stories with amazement and humor, and wished aloud, more than once, that she'd known him then.

"Honestly, I don't think I would have been any good to you back then, dear," he told her gently. "I had a very different lifestyle to now. I think we met exactly when we were supposed to."

...Which of course, was such a sweet sentiment that she had to kiss him, and then he had to kiss her, and soon they were ordered off the bus, and they walked the rest of the way back to their hotel, laughing.

When they returned to Millstone Manor they were much more comfortable with each other, both in public and in private. Wil had completely lost his embarrassment about Mavis's affectionate nature. The others came to realize it was just her way; she tended to be affectionate with everyone. Jamie Lucas gave her an empty journal that he'd seen in one of the shops, for her to "document her married life in," and she hugged him right in front of everyone. So after the first few times, no one even looked twice when she'd give Wil a quick kiss or squeeze on her way past, or when she plunked herself down on his lap in the sitting room for a few minutes.

They returned from Paris and London shortly before the raising of the new stable. It had been built in pieces, but would all be raised and put together in a single day. They were healthy and happy and eager to get back to work. Half the village of Great Tender, and some few from Little Tender, had offered to help. They were just waiting for the first nice day.

It was well into spring by this point, and love was in the air. Nearly everyone at the Manor had found romance or was earnestly looking for it. Even Mother Humphries and Mr. Beck had set a wedding date and sent out invitations.

Miss Lovelock had fully transferred her affections to Captain Peacock after the masterful way he'd taken charge during the fire and organized the bucket brigade. This left Jamie Lucas finally free to pursue Miss Brahms the way he'd wanted to from the start. She slowly began to thaw to him, but he'd had to do some damage control after having been so selfish and pushy when they had dated years before. She was finally beginning to give him a chance.

And he was useful in keeping away Celia Littlewood.

Mr. Rumbold, with his usual obliviousness, had begun pursuing Miss Littlewood—never noticing that she was much more interested in Miss Brahms. Meanwhile, the others placed bets as to how long it would take him to figure it out.

"But then, you never know," Wil observed to Jamie and Miss Brahms. "People have been known to fall in love with someone well outside their usual type!"

Mavis, passing by, heard him and swooped down for a kiss before continuing on her way. Wil smiled fondly after her.

"A valid point," Jamie agreed. "Observe, if you will, the case of Miss Shirley Brahms and my graceless self. No one ever thought she'd go for a ne'er-do-well like me!" he teased.

"An' I wouldn't, if you 'adn't done well!" she retorted. "Anyway, you wouldn't've done for me without all that training you got from your wife. Who'd've guessed all you'd need to turn you into a decent bloke was marrying a younger, Scottish version of Mrs. Slocombe!"

"Ouch!" Jamie winced. "Don't compare my beautiful Rose with Mrs. Slocombe!"

"Nothing wrong with Mrs. Slocombe!" Wil pointed out, seeing her approaching and giving a wave.

"Oh, I agree, nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all," Jamie hastily agreed. "Nothing, that is, except for when she's the one in charge," he muttered after she had given him a gracious smile and swept on through to the kitchen.

Mrs. Slocombe had taken charge of the cleanup, the planning for the new stable, and was handling all the bookings and managing the farm now. She had steamrollered Rumbold quite easily, and now he was in charge of the accounts. He and Miss Lovelock split the Manor's PR duties and that was all. Otherwise he was just a skivvy like the rest of them.

Wil chuckled. "Well, you can't deny things are going much more smoothly than when Rumbold was in charge!"

"Yeah, an' she does do 'er share o' the work, an' then some," Miss Brahms agreed.

"I think she needs to remarry," Jamie said thoughtfully. "Give her someone else to boss around besides us."

"Oo'd she have?" Miss Brahms scoffed.

Wil raised his eyebrows. "I noticed you didn't ask who'd have _her_ ," he remarked.

Miss Brahms grinned. "In case you didn't notice, she's been having to beat them off with sticks lately."

Jamie laughed. "Yeah, especially Henry Heathcliffe!"

Malcolm's dad had made a couple of half-hearted attempts at wooing Mrs. Slocombe, but once when he'd mentioned something unsavory that Moulterd had said about her, she had flattened him and warned him to keep a civil tongue in his head.

"Well, it's all them interviews, isn't it?" Miss Brahms pointed out. Mrs. Slocombe, as Matron of honor and active participant in the fire-fighting, had been interviewed extensively in the aftermath of the wedding and the fire.

"She's been getting a lot of attention lately," Wil agreed. "Not just from Mr. Heathcliffe, either. I can't remember when we've had so many visits from older gentlemen since those Americans left."

"Reporters and all," Jamie said. "She's all over the news!"

All in all, it was fairly inevitable that one Cecil G. Slocombe would hear of her and return to satisfy his curiosity.


	32. Mr Slocombe Meets his Match

Cecil drove up the same morning they were raising the frame for the new stable. Half the village was there, pulling on long ropes to raise the frame under Mrs. Slocombe's direction. Her stentorian tones could be heard all over the yard, and Cecil recognized her voice.

He glanced around to find her, but didn't see her. Well, it had been 40 years, after all. He didn't recognize her at first. Then she yelled a warning to someone, and he zeroed in on her.

Could _that_ be his Betty? His class-conscious, fashionable ex-wife, who would no more wear her natural hair color than she would ever wear trousers!

But she _was_ wearing denim trousers, with wellingtons on her feet, leather gloves on her hands, and a flannel work shirt on. Her silver hair peeked out from under her sun hat. The busy winter had given her figure a stronger and more shapely aspect, and Cecil let his gaze linger appreciatively on her backside. He'd never seen her in trousers before, and he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Cecil watched and waited until the walls were up, under her capable and authoritative direction (and where had Betty learned _carpentry,_ of all things?) before he approached the group.

Many of the crowd looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place them. He glanced around for the motley crew he'd met before at the farmer's cottage, but couldn't see them. Wait a minute. That tall, mustached gentleman with the military bearing—surely that wasn't Ratchet, the drunken gamekeeper, who had offered him half a rabbit on his last visit? He looked completely different! Cecil looked around, but couldn't see any of the others. Oh, wait—wasn't the young, pretty one the dairymaid? Her hair was lying down just fine, now. Cecil watched in consternation as she ran up to an older fellow in denims and work gloves, and throw her arms around him. He looked familiar too, but didn't he have too many teeth?

Enough of this. He strode forward towards Betty.

The Gamekeeper intercepted him. "Good afternoon, sir. May I help you?" Then he saw Cecil's face and his jaw dropped. "Oh, good God, it's Mr. Slocombe!"

"It is," Cecil confirmed shortly. "And if you'd step aside, sir, I'd like to speak with my wife!"

The Gamekeeper looked around in a panic, but Betty had already seen Cecil and was walking up to them. "It's all right, Captain Peacock," she said, lifting her chin imperiously. "I'll speak with him. I'm just in the mood to set him straight on a few things!"

The tall man—Peacock?— swallowed a grin and called out, "Gather round, everyone. As you can see, Mr. Slocombe has returned to Millstone Manor."

Cecil eyed the gathering crowd—damn, but several of them _did_ look familiar—and asked Betty, "Er, couldn't we speak somewhere privately?"

"Not at the moment, Cecil, no," she told him sweetly. "You see, these are all my friends here, and not a single one of them has ever deserted me when I needed them. Not even for a trip to Sainsbury's for butter!"

There was a chorus of "Yeah" and "That's right," and "You tell 'im, Mrs. Slocombe!" and "We're all behind you, love," and other murmurs of agreement.

Cecil ducked his head. He'd hoped she had forgotten! But honestly, what other choice did he have back then? He hadn't been earning enough to keep her in gin! He hadn't wanted to be saddled with a drunk for the rest of his life! "Yeah, uh, sorry 'bout that, Betty," he managed to say.

She crossed her arms. "Fine. Well, why don't you state your business here and then push off? Are you here to buy the Manor? Or to lord it over me because you're so rich that you _could_ buy it? Which is it?"

Cecil spread out his hands in a placating gesture. Damn, but she was intimidating! She'd never used to be. Used to be that one good scolding would send her into tears! Now _he_ was the one afraid to put a foot wrong. "No, no, Betty. You've got it wrong. I didn't come to buy the Manor. There are too many servants here, anyway—it wouldn't be worth my while!"

Betty smiled at her friends in a sweet, devious way that made Cecil gulp in fear. Around her, the others were also snickering. "Well?" she asked them. "Shall we all introduce ourselves?"

The little white-haired fellow minced forward and made a little bow. "Mad Jed, at your service, Mr. Slocombe," he said, with BBC-perfect diction and a smile full of sparkling white teeth. "However, there's no need to tell me any stories of London, as I was born there."

"Mad Jed?" Cecil repeated dumbly, remembering the odd, gormless fellow who had grinned at him with only a single tooth in his head, planted himself on Cecil's lap, and demanded stories of London. "You?!"

"Me," the man replied, with an elegant bow that wouldn't have been out of place in Buckingham Palace. "And this is my wife," he said, gesturing the young, pretty girl forward.

"I'm Rosie Belle," the girl said, taking the man's arm with a giggle.

"An' so am I, but we're not twins," said the middle-aged woman in a thick, Cockney accent, with a sardonic smile at Cecil. "An' I nevah been pregnant. 'Specially not by 'im!" she indicated "Jed" with a dismissive wave.

"A dear happiness to us all, I'm sure," replied "Jed" as he pointedly kissed his wife's hand.

The tall fellow stepped forward. He spat on his palm in a deliberately insulting manner, and offered it to Cecil, who made no move to take it. "I'm the Gamekeeper, as you recall, though I have no rabbits to offer you today." This man, Peacock, was wearing flannel trousers, a button-down shirt and tie, with an expensive-looking jumper over it. He also spoke perfect Received Pronunciation with a well-modulated baritone. He looked every inch a country squire.

"What—what is this? Betty? What's going on?" Cecil asked.

Betty ducked her head and mumbled, "Oh, ah, oh, aye!" in a deep voice.

"Oh, my God!" Cecil realized. "You were Mrs. Moulterd!"

Betty glared at him. "You call me that again and you'll find yourself flat on your backside, Cecil Slocombe!"

Cecil frowned. "So what is this? Who are all you people, really?"

Betty explained. "Well, we didn't want you to buy the place, so we all dressed up as the old servants who used to be here twenty years ago so you'd think there were more than you could afford to pay!"

Cecil glared at Rumbold, whom he remembered from his last visit. "Is this true, Rumbold?"

Rumbold gave him a sunny smile. "Oh, absolutely! At the time, there were only the eight of us, plus Moulterd."

"Oh, yes, Moulterd," Cecil remembered. "Where is he?"

"He's in jail, you stupid nit," Betty replied in an acid tone. "Don't you read the news?"

"Did you actually _marry_ that disgusting boor?" Cecil asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

Betty thrust her fist into his face. "I am _Mrs. Slocombe_ _!_ I've been Mrs. Slocombe ever since I married you, forty-five years ago! And if you don't want a bunch of fives up your hooter, you'll remember that!"

Cecil shook his head in bewilderment. "So you all put on that elaborate show, to keep me from buying the Manor? And you actually _hid_ from me, Betty? _Why_?"

"I was ashamed for you to see how far I'd come down in the world, when you'd done so well for yourself," she told him. "I'd worked as a saleslady selling ladies' intimate apparel for 35 years, only to end up here, and if you bought the place, then I'd have to work for you—as a _chambermaid_!"

"Oh!" was all Cecil could say, in his shock.

She lifted her chin. "I _was_ ashamed, but I'm certainly not anymore! I'm one of the owners of Millstone Manor, and I'm also a foreman, secretary, cook, chambermaid, and waitress here. I'm an integral part of the Manor. This place would fall apart without me!"

Again, there were murmurs of agreement from all the others. "Absolutely, Mrs. Slocombe!" "That's God's own truth, that is!" "What would we do without you, Mrs. Slocombe?" and "It _would_ fall apart, no question!"

Cecil started to speak, but Betty held up her hand and he closed his mouth instantly.

"Let me tell you one thing, Cecil G. Slocombe," she said. "If you buy this Manor out from under my friends and me, now that you know the truth, you won't be able to get rid of me because of the trust—we're all guaranteed to keep our jobs. And," and here she leaned close to him and spoke through her teeth, " _I will make your life a living hell_ _!_ I would _never_ consent to serving you, Cecil! Not after you left me with no word for 40 years!"

"I'd never!" Cecil rushed to explain. Betty had certainly changed a lot! He was intrigued, and started to smile. "You've got the wrong end of the stick, love. Completely!"

"I have? Why?" she demanded.

"Betty, you could have the most menial job in the world, and you'd carry it off like you're the queen of Sheba. I don't care if you were a saleslady—I'm betting you were the best one on the floor, and I'm betting you sold ladies' underwear with as much class and dignity as if you were the queen. And even now, I watched you putting up that barn. You were magnificent, love. Magnificent!"

"Yes, well..." Betty said, visibly thawing. "Thank you, Cecil."

"And I'd never dream of buying the place out from under you, now that I know you're one of the owners, love," Cecil hastened to reassure her.

"Then why did you come here for?" she demanded.

Cecil felt his cheeks prickle with heat. "Er, to see you, Betty."

She gave him a skeptical look and folded her arms again.

"It's true! I saw you mentioned in the news, and I just wanted to see you, love. That's all!"

"Oh." Betty gave him a small smile, and then gasped in horror. "Oh, I must look a fright! I've hardly any makeup on, and me hair's a mess and hasn't been tinted in months—"

"Betty," Cecil interrupted, catching her hand as it flew by his face to pat her hair. He raised it to his lips. "I've honestly never seen you look lovelier."

"Oh!" she said in surprise. She gave him one of her old, flirty smiles. "Well, thank you, Cecil. That is kind of you."

"Now, won't you introduce me to your friends? Properly, this time?"

"Oh, well... Mr. Rumbold and Miss Lovelock, you've already met as themselves. This is Captain Stephen Peacock, who was floorwalker at Grace Brothers, and here seems to have settled into his niche as personnel manager."

Cecil shook Peacock's hand and surreptitiously wiped off the memory of his spit. Peacock smirked.

"And this is Mr. Wilberforce Humphries, who was head of the men's counter at Grace Brothers, and here acts as barman and man-of-all-work here at the Manor."

"I help out where I'm needed," Humphries said modestly.

"Ah, yes, I remember you. As yourself, not as that mad fellow," Cecil grinned and shook his hand.

"And this is Mrs. Mavis Humphries, our cook and, well, general manager," Betty said with a fond smile. "I don't know whether she's my right hand, or I'm hers, but we run the place pretty well together." With a fond smile, she added, "I was Matron of Honor at their wedding last autumn."

Cecil shook the young Mrs. Humphries' hand and congratulated her, and she blushed prettily.

Betty went on, "This is Miss Shirley Brahms, who was my assistant at Grace Brothers, and Mr. R. J. Lucas—"

"—Who was _my_ assistant at Grace Brothers," Humphries put in.

A little girl with a curly, red mane of hair, came up and tugged at Betty's sleeve.

Betty smiled at her and went on. "And this little dear is Miss Lexie Lucas, who has been looking forward to this barn-raising all winter! Everyone, in case you missed him when he was here before, this is my ex-husband, Cecil Slocombe."

Cecil nodded at everyone. "It's nice to meet you all. Properly, I mean. And thank you for telling the truth this time. I've decided to invest in some property nearby, so I'm sure I'll be seeing a lot of all of you in the future." He added in a lower voice to Betty, "And I hope you and I will be able to spend some time together soon, love."

She gave him a measuring look. "We'll see."

Cecil smiled at her and nodded. "We certainly will." He addressed the group again. "Well, it seems you've been doing a wonderful job here! I'm quite impressed!" He glanced over the flowering grounds, the new stable, the tidy courtyard, and nodded. "Yes, indeed. It looks as if you've all done very well!"

As a single unit, everyone in the group bowed and said together in a chorus, " _Thank_ you, Mr. Slocombe!"

The End

* * *

 _[Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed this sweet little romp through the fields of wildflowers. Please review and let me know what you think! There may be a tiny epilogue posted at some later date, but as for now, I'm marking this story complete. God bless, and thank you for reading!]_


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